Destiny
by George Stark II
Summary: House/Wilson slash. When House inadvertently discovers a way to change his past—think "Back to the Future" meets "Butterfly Effect"—he wants to see if there's a way for him to end up with Wilson instead of Cuddy.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** House/Wilson slash. When House inadvertently discovers a way to change his past (think "Back to the Future" meets "Butterfly Effect") he wants to see if there's a way for him to end up with Wilson instead of Cuddy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, time travel, or an MRI machine.

**A/N:** Back in season six, House mentioned his leg pain was getting worse. I don't know what kinds of things would cause worse leg pain for someone in House's condition and I don't know how to test for them because I know nothing about medicine. But if we can say, for the purposes of this story, that whatever House thinks the problem might be would be visible on an MRI, that would be very helpful. Thanks.

This story has fourteen chapters and I will post a new one every day.

Destiny

**November 9, 2010**

House rubbed his aching thigh. It had been bugging him all evening. Well, all right, really it had been bugging him for the past eleven years, save for a couple months of ketamine and a day of methadone, but tonight it was even worse than usual. He'd pretended everything was normal, making sure to take the extra ibuprofen when Cuddy was occupied with Rachel so she wouldn't notice, and though the pain had been bad even during the sex, he hadn't let on that anything was out of the ordinary.

Now the sex was over for tonight, and he could lie back and rub his leg without worrying about having to aggravate it. A nagging voice in his head (that sounded like Wilson for some reason, though the nagging voices in his head usually sounded like Wilson) told him to have it looked at. The last thing he needed was another infarction. But he didn't want anyone to know. If it really was nothing, Wilson and Cuddy would get concerned that was having extra pain with no extra cause, they might get suspicious that House would go back to opiates, and he would resent them for not trusting him on top of having worse pain.

But what if it _was _something? A particularly painful twinge accompanied this thought. If there was another blood clot forming, it would be better for all involved if House knew about it. Another infarction, if it didn't result in worse pain or a lost limb, could possibly kill him, and he didn't want to die now that he and Cuddy were finally together. After they broke up, maybe he wouldn't care so much, but he knew they probably wouldn't last too long, and considering how long he'd waited for this relationship it would be counterproductive not to hold onto it for as long as possible.

For some reason, though, Cuddy was determined not to share House's view of the outcome of their relationship. Though he'd warned her when they first got together that it wouldn't last and she hadn't been able to argue with any of his reasons why, against all logic she believed (or, more possibly, _wanted_ to believe) that they would be together forever. After they'd had sex, she'd cuddled up to him, stroking his hair.

"I'm so glad I'm finally with you," she'd whispered.

"Yup," House had agreed, squeezing her upper arm with one hand and his thigh with the other. "It's pretty awesome."

"Hmm," she'd sighed, snuggling closer. "You know, with all that's happened between us, between college and hiring you and...that time you kissed me, everything that happened with Lucas, and that confession you made to me at the medical conference...it's like we've been through so much and now we're finally here...I know you don't believe in this, and a lot of the time I don't either, but I feel like we were destined to be together."

He hadn't responded. No, she was right, he _didn't_ believe in destiny or fate or soul mates or any of that kind of stuff. It wasn't real. It was just crap people made up as justification for why their lives sucked or to try and convince themselves that their lives _didn't_ suck. Stuff happened based on the _decisions_ people made—that was what life was. If they'd made different decisions things would have turned out differently; fate and destiny had absolutely nothing to do with it.

House squeezed his thigh again as the pain spiked. He really _should_ get it scanned, but he didn't want anyone to know that his pain was worse. Unless...unless he went and just did the scan himself. House frowned at this thought, thinking. If he could calibrate the MRI machine to go off on a timer, he could just perform the scan himself, look at the images himself, and if there was something there he could get it taken care of and if there wasn't then no one needed to know about it.

That could work. He could go in the middle of the night when no MRIs were scheduled, hope that no emergency patients would need the scanner while he was using it, and have the results by morning. He could go now.

House looked over at Cuddy, who had fallen asleep beside him, and got quietly out of bed. He left her a note explaining that he couldn't sleep and decided to occupy himself at his apartment so he wouldn't bother her, and then took his bike over to the hospital.

.

House sat in front of the MRI monitors trying to calibrate the thing. He needed to time it so that it wouldn't start until he was already in the gown and lying in the machine. And as brilliant as he was, he wasn't a radiologist, he didn't know these machines inside and out, he wasn't entirely sure it would work, and eventually he decided it might take a few tries before he got it right. So House set the machine in a way that looked good to him, grabbed his cane, and hurried into the adjoining room to change into the gown and climb into the machine.

Fortunately, it didn't start until House was already lying still inside the tube, and he hoped that meant it would turn out right the first time and he wouldn't need to do this again.

As the magnets did their thing, House couldn't help but continue to reflect on what Cuddy had said to him earlier that evening about destiny. It wasn't just that he didn't believe in soul mates—he also knew that if he was wrong about his theory of the world, if there was such a thing as two people meant to be together, he wouldn't want Cuddy to be the one for him. He'd want it to be Wilson. And as it was, even without fate, he still wanted Wilson to be the one he ended up with. Yes, he loved Cuddy. He loved her very much. But no matter how much he loved her, he would always love Wilson more. And yes, he was, for all intents and purposes, happy with Cuddy right now, but he still hoped that once he and his boss broke up (that wasn't fate or destiny, it was just inevitable), there might be a chance for he and Wilson to be together.

Not that it was very likely. Wilson most probably did not share his feelings, anyway. Cuddy did. She had feelings even stronger than his. So it was good they were together. House _did_ want this. He'd had feelings for Cuddy since that time in medical school when they'd had that one night stand. He smiled to himself, thinking of that time...he and Cuddy were at the dance together and they'd kissed, started making out like it was going out of style. The date was...

**April 6, 1985**

House's lips were against Cuddy's, tongue in her mouth, and he was pressing her against the wall.

"Wait..." he stepped back. What was he doing? When had he gone back to Cuddy's? He was going to go scan his leg...

"Greg, something wrong?" she asked, trailing a seductive finger up his neck and the side of his face.

He stared at her in shock.

This wasn't Cuddy...well, it _was_, but...she didn't look a day over nineteen. And her clothes, her hair...looked like something a college student from the '80s would wear. House glanced around, confused. They were in a long hallway of what was undoubtably a college dorm. And his leg...his leg didn't hurt at all...

"I'm dreaming," House concluded.

Nineteen-year-old Cuddy laughed. "Well I knew I was good, I didn't know I was _that_ good," she said flirtatiously. And her lips were on his again, arms snaking around his waist. He kissed back just as passionately, grabbing her ass which made her giggle. "What do you say we take this to my room?" she suggested, nibbling on his ear.

He remembered her saying the exact same thing back when this had happened all those years ago. And he responded in this dream the same way he had in real life. "Best idea you've had all night."

He slid an arm under her knees and carried her, while she giggled and kissed his neck, to her dorm room.

It went exactly how House had remembered it. She moaned at exactly the same times, whispered the exact same phrases, and he did too. It was the most vivid dream he'd ever had. And strange, because while he knew sometimes people had dreams of actual memories, it had never happened to him before. It really didn't feel like a dream, and he wondered if maybe he was in a coma. Maybe something had happened during the MRI (they were supposed to be supervised for a reason) and he was reliving his med school years in his head while his body lay in a vegetative state somewhere.

Well, whatever this was, House decided to take advantage of having a fully functional body and being in a college-aged Cuddy's bed. In real life, he'd watched her fall asleep after they'd made love, he'd rested his hand between her shoulder blades feeling her respirations until he'd fallen asleep himself.

But this time, in this dream, as soon as the high of the orgasm started to wear off he started kissing her neck.

"Again?" she whispered, bright eyes sparking at him as she raked her fingers though his hair.

"Why not?" he breathed against her clavicle. He raised his head to look at her. "You don't have any objections, do you?" he smirked.

Cuddy grinned at him. "Absolutely not. But this time..." she kissed him and wrapped her arms around him before rolling them over so he was on his back, "...I'm on top." She kissed his ear. "Objections?" she breathed into it.

House grabbed her ass. "Absolutely not."

The second time was just a good as the first, but going at it twice in a row was pretty exhausting, so House decided that was enough. He watched Cuddy start to drift off next to him. After her breathing had evened out, he brushed her hair out of her forehead and gave her temple a light kiss. Then he lay back and fell asleep himself.

—

House woke up to the sound of a toddler crying from the next room. A 44-year-old Cuddy groaned next to him and got up. He grabbed her pillow and pulled it over his face. Well, at least it had just been a dream and not a coma. Weird, though, because he could have sworn that the MRI part, at least, had happened in real life. Well, obviously he'd been wrong.

"House, give that back," Cuddy whined tiredly, getting back into bed and tugging at her pillow.

He meant to complain, but his voice box apparently didn't want to make the effort this early in the morning and the only distinguishable word that came from his mouth was "Rachel."

"It's only five in the morning, she went back to sleep," Cuddy explained, successfully retrieving her pillow from his grip.

The dim sunlight that managed to get through the curtains of Cuddy's bedroom felt like surgical lights against House's eyelids and he squinted at the assault. He squeezed his eyes open to see Cuddy pulling the comforter over herself to settle back down for another hour of sleep. House was surprised she was even trying, considering how bright it was in there. He didn't think he'd be able to fall back asleep now that he was up. But sleep wasn't the only thing they could do in bed. And...that dream had been pretty vivid...

"House, what are you doing?" Cuddy whined as he started mouthing her neck. "It's early."

"I had a dream about you last night," he said between kisses. It was a line, but it was also true and would probably work.

"Really?" she said, propping herself up on her elbows and looking at him.

"Yup," he said, giving a light kiss to her lips. "Our first night back in med school. Except it was twice as awesome—we did it twice in a row instead of once."

"What are you talking about? House, we _did_ do it twice in a row back in college," she said, rolling her eyes.

"No we didn't," House objected. "We went once and then went to sleep. Then I wanted to call you after and do it again, but I got expelled that week so I figured there wasn't a point."

"I know, you told me that at the '80s dance at the medical conference, but our one night stand definitely had two rounds of sex," Cuddy insisted, looking at him slightly confused. "I was ready to go to sleep but you started kissing me. I wasn't about to complain, though, and the second time around I was on top. _Then _we went to sleep. And you stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. You thought I was asleep but I wasn't, I felt it."

The two stared at each other.

"House, it was one of the most memorable nights of my life," Cuddy said, watching him. "I'm not wrong."

"No...I...believe you..." House said, staring right back at her. How else would she know details like that if it hadn't really happened?

But that _wasn't_ what happened. It was a dream. Maybe he was still dreaming.

"Are you okay?" Cuddy asked, looking at him with concern.

"I...think so," he muttered. None of this made sense.

"You really don't remember us doing it twice?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"No, I do..." House said. "...I asked if you had any objections to a second round..."

"...and I said 'absolutely not.'" She smiled at the memory.

House shook his head. "I thought that was just in my dream," he muttered. No, he _knew_. He wasn't losing his mind. He would be prepared to bet his life on the fact that he and Cuddy only had sex once their first time around.

"Maybe you're just tired," Cuddy suggested. "So we could try for another hour of sleep..." she gave him a flirty smile and climbed over to him, swinging her leg across his lap, "...or I can help remind you of round two." Then she kissed him, and he participated equally but the conundrum did not leave his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Passing the MRI room on the way to his office, House paused and looked in. Though the college Cuddy sex had obviously been a dream because it happened twenty-five years ago, the MRI hadn't only felt real (though the sex had as well, much more vivid than normal dream-sex), it was also plausible. He had been considering scanning his leg for awhile now. Maybe most people would find it ridiculous to perform an MRI scan alone outside the world of dreams, but it was a perfectly realistic thing for House to do. And in dreams one often ended up somewhere with no idea how they got there (for example, House was in the machine one minute and Cuddy's dorm the next), but he distinctly remembered getting out of bed, getting dressed, and riding his motorcycle to the hospital. Dreams didn't usually include minute details like that.

House shook his head. Well, this dream had. He obviously didn't scan his leg last night, so he would go back and scan it tonight.

.

House calibrated the machine the same way he had last night (in his dream, he reminded himself), changed into the gown and got in. He still couldn't stop thinking about their conversation that morning. How in the world had Cuddy known details from House's dream if they hadn't really happened? Or was House wrong? Had they really done it twice? They must have!—that was the only way Cuddy could have known how it happened, unless she had suddenly developed the ability to mind-read and was using it to mess with him. It was definitely the most confusing conversation he'd ever had in his life...

**November 10, 2010**

House woke up to the sound of a toddler crying from the next room. Next to him, Cuddy groaned and got out of bed. House sat straight up and stared around the room. What the hell? How had he gotten here? Was he dreaming again?

He spotted his phone on the nightstand and grabbed it. It was 5:09 a.m. on Wednesday, November 10. But that didn't make sense. The last time he'd looked at his phone it was 11:32 _p.m._ on Wednesday, November 10. That was when he'd been at the hospital reprogramming the MRI machine...had that been another dream? No, it couldn't be, he'd lived through the whole day. How was it five in the morning again?

Cuddy reentered the room and gave House a perplexed look. "What's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

His eyes snapped to meet hers. "How many times did we have sex during our one night stand twenty-five years ago?"

"Two," she said, looking at him with concern.

"What about last night?"

"Once. House, what is going on?"

"And what did we talk about?"

"What do you mean? I...I don't know, I said something about how I thought we were meant to be together, even though I know you don't really believe in that stuff."

"And that was last night?" House prompted, staring at her. "Not the night before?"

"House, I'm sure it was last night. Now will you please tell me why you're interrogating me and acting as though the earth has flipped on its axis?"

Because it _had_. House shook his head. "I don't know...I'm just...a little confused...I...I just had a weird dream. A really long weird dream."

"Well it's over now," Cuddy said, getting back into bed. "I've still got an hour before I need to get up. Go back to sleep."

House really didn't think there was any way he could fall asleep with these confusing thoughts plaguing him, but he must have because...

—

...he woke up in Cuddy's bed. She wasn't next to him, but he could hear the shower running. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was about 7:15. Much too early for him, so he closed his eyes again. Within minutes, though, Cuddy was poking him awake.

"House, please get up, I'd like you at work sometime before noon."

"I'll be in at 11:30," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Let me amend that: I want you at work sometime before 9:15."

"Unfair," he argued, opening his eyes and sitting up because he was already kind of awake and if he could put Cuddy in a good mood he would get rewarded.

"You have a patient," she reminded him, walking toward the dresser to get dressed now that House was sufficiently awake.

"No I don't," he said, furrowing his brow at her. "You haven't given one to me–" He was about to say 'yet,' but he cut himself off, reminding himself that yesterday (well, today) hadn't actually happened and it was just a dream.

"Of course I did," she said, frowning at him. "I gave you a patient yesterday. Diane Lake, 55, lightheadedness and abdominal pain."

"Whoa," House said, shaking his head in confusion. What happened to that being a dream? "What day is it?"

"Thursday," she said, staring at him as though he were brain damaged.

"The eleventh?"

Cuddy widened her eyes and nodded. Duh.

House shook his head. So waking up at five in the morning on the tenth—again—_that_ had been a dream? But what about the MRI? Obviously that hadn't been real because he couldn't remember finishing it. No, one minute he was in the MRI machine and the next he'd woken up the morning of the day he'd just lived. The day he, apparently, _had_ just lived. But not the MRI part. Why did he keep having dreams about MRI machines? Or, why was he having _dreams_ about MRI machines instead of _actually_ getting his leg scanned? Tonight. He really needed to get it done.

"Did we have sex yesterday morning?" he asked suddenly, staring at her.

Cuddy gave him a confused look. "No. You asked me a bunch of weird questions, kind of like you are now, and then we went back to sleep. Then we got up, went to work, and just before lunch I gave you a patient. House, is something wrong? All this disorientation worries me, it could be a symptom of something. Have you had any lightheadedness lately?"

House shook his head. "Yesterday morning—I asked you how many times we had sex our first night."

"Yeah, and I told you two. Then you said you had a weird dream."

"Yeah," House said, running his hands through his hair. "And I think I just had another one...I'm gonna go take a shower...clear my head..."

"Okay," Cuddy said, still looking at him cautiously. "House, if this happens again, or if you start experiencing any other symptoms, I want you to tell me."

"I'll be fine," House insisted, grabbing his thigh and getting out of bed.

As he felt the cool water rush over his body, he wasn't entirely sure about that. These weren't just dreams. He was _changing_ things. As...ridiculous as it sounded...he had changed his and Cuddy's one night stand so they had sex twice instead of once...and he had changed yesterday morning so they went back to sleep instead of having sex...

But that wasn't possible. No one could _change_ the past. Maybe Cuddy was right and he was experiencing symptoms...maybe he had a brain tumour or something...that was definitely much more logical than him actually _traveling back in time in an MRI machine_, but he was not ready to have his head checked just yet. He was a man of science, and like any good scientist, he wanted to test his theory.


	3. Chapter 3

For what he suspected was the third night in a row, House left Cuddy's in the middle of the night and drove to the hospital. He went to the MRI room and calibrated the machine to the specifications he'd used for the past two days. He called himself crazy as he changed into the gown, wondering what Wilson would say if he knew House actually thought he could go back and change things from his past.

Not that he actually thought this. It was most likely a brain tumour causing disorientation and false memories.

But the thought of Wilson gave House an idea of what to, as ludicrous as the idea was, try and change.

House's biggest regret from the last year was not telling Wilson his true feelings for him. He'd thought about it many times but hadn't been able to work up the courage—mostly because he didn't think his friend felt the same way and didn't want to ruin their friendship. But really, there was no way for him to know whether Wilson felt the same without asking him. The best opportunity to do that, House decided, would have been the night Wilson gave him the organ. When the two friends had looked at each other from across the room, House had felt something and could have sworn Wilson had felt it too. Then Wilson had turned and left the room, and House had wanted to follow him, go tell him how he felt...but he hadn't. He'd turned to the organ and played a song instead, because he'd been too afraid Wilson would hate him if he knew his true feelings.

Well not this time.

Feeling like an idiot because he knew there was no way this could possibly work and the fact that he was even trying it was just another indicator that there was something wrong with his brain, House lay back in the machine and focused on that night, on Wilson giving him the organ, on the look they shared across the room on...

**March 15, 2010**

Wilson stood near the hallway, giving him a tender smile that he knew he was returning.

Holy fuck! It had _worked_. That, or, more likely, House was hallucinating, but he couldn't know that until he returned to the present and had Cuddy (or, hopefully, Wilson) set him straight on what was happening, what had happened.

Still wearing the smile, Wilson turned, with a slight inclination of the head House hadn't noticed the first time around, and headed for his room.

House grabbed his cane from where he'd hooked it on the closet doorknob, got off the bench, and followed him, walking quickly to catch up. How to do this? He didn't want to just come right out and say it, he had to lead into it...

"That's a lot of money to spend on an instrument, considering you don't play," House commented.

Wilson glanced at him. "That thought did cross my mind. But somehow, I thought it belonged here."

Wilson was telling House he wanted him there permanently. He hadn't reunited with Sam yet, so he didn't foresee kicking House out. But he did foresee...or he wanted to foresee...House staying.

House smiled at him. Or maybe it was the leftover smile from getting the organ. Or something. "You know I can't stay here forever, Wilson."

He most certainly did not imagine the falter in his friend's face. No, Wilson definitely did not want House moving out, not at this point in time.

"I bought this condo for us," Wilson explained, looking at House carefully. "Remember, extra big fridge? Two bedrooms?"

"Now there's the problem," House responded, smirking slightly. "The fridge, fine, but the bedroom...it's too small, Wilson. You get this huge king-sized bed and I have to sleep on this little queen-sized bed, and my bathroom doesn't even have a tub." He put his hand to his chin in mock-thought. "Hmm, if only there were some way to remedy that..."

Wilson blushed and smiled shyly. "I'm not switching rooms with you, House," he said, but his expression gave away the fact that he knew perfectly well that wasn't what House was suggesting.

"Of course not," House agreed. "It's your condo. But I'm sure that if we put our heads together we can find a way for both of us to get the nice room with the king-sized bed and the fancy bathroom with a tub."

"Maybe...we could share," Wilson suggested, giving House a smile that was definitely flirty.

"We could give that a try," House decided. "See if there's room for both of us."

"Definitely," Wilson agreed. He stepped into the bedroom and House followed him. "It is a pretty big bed," Wilson pointed out.

House nodded. "Well, since it's your condo, you can go lay down first and then decide if there's enough space to share with me."

Wilson did as instructed, taking off his shoes before lying down flat on his back on top of the comforter. "Well it certainly seems like there's enough space," he said. "But just to be safe, you should get over here and make sure there's enough room for you."

House walked over to the bed, leaning his cane against the wall and sitting down. He kicked off his shoes and lay on his back beside his best friend. "Oh yeah," House agreed. "This could definitely work."

"There's just one thing though," Wilson said, and House turned to look at him. "Spread out your arms," the younger man said, and House complied. When Wilson copied him, his hand encountered House's forearm.

"I see," House said, turning over to face Wilson. "Well, I can see how that could potentially be a problem, but it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

"No," Wilson shook his head, smiling at House. "It doesn't bother me."

"Oh, but there's something else," House said.

"What?"

"Do you ever move around in your sleep?"

"Sometimes," Wilson nodded.

"So do I," House explained. "So if...in the middle of the night...you move over..."

Getting the hint, Wilson shimmied himself closer to the centre of the bed.

"...and at the same time, I move over..." House also scooted in, lying back so his and Wilson's shoulders and the lengths of their arms were touching.

"I see what you mean," Wilson agreed. "But I'm okay with it if you are."

"I'm okay with it."

"That's good."

For a second they just lay, slightly touching, but then Wilson gasped. "Wait a minute."

House turned on his side to look at him. "What?"

Also turning, so they were lying on their sides facing each other, Wilson elaborated, "Well, sometimes...in my sleep, I might...without realising it...put my arm across the person sharing my bed." He demonstrated, sliding a hand across House's waist and up his back, where he let it rest.

"Oh," House said. "Well, I guess that's all right. I might...also without realising it...do a similar thing..." He snuck his hand down to Wilson's waist, sliding it down to grab his ass.

Wilson chuckled. "Well, I guess I can live with that."

They looked at each other for a second before House prompted, "Anything else?"

"There is another thing," Wilson admitted. "If...the both of us were to move this way in our sleep...you know...accidentally get this close...I might..."

Their eyes were locked together with a similar look from earlier, only more intense, as Wilson slowly moved forward, pressing on House's back to move him closer. House didn't close his eyes until just before Wilson's lips brushed his. He moved his hand from Wilson's ass to the back of his neck to pull him in closer, wanting, needing something deeper, something more.

The back of House's mind reminded him that this was most probably either a dream or a hallucination but he didn't care. It felt so real, Wilson kissing him felt so real that he wanted it, dream or hallucination or not. He smelled just like the real Wilson, and he tasted like...well, House wouldn't know whether he tasted like the real Wilson, but he tasted good. And god was he a good kisser!

House opened his mouth to give Wilson some tongue and Wilson copied him. He pulled their bodies closer, kissing more deeply, more frantically. Eventually he gave up and just pulled Wilson on top of him, because more of their bodies could touch that way.

It was everything House always thought it would be. New, imperfect, and all he'd ever wanted. After, he held Wilson close, afraid if he let go he would lose this moment. It was very possible. More than possible, it was probable. This probably wasn't even real. He would probably wake up the next morning in Cuddy's bed, he'd have to ask her what the date was and how many times they had sex, and she would insist on him getting a brain scan. And they would find something and he would lose not only this with Wilson, but his very mind. House squeezed Wilson against him tighter, watching him drift off to sleep. He didn't want to go to sleep. He was afraid of what would happen when he woke up.

—

House squinted his eyes open. All he could see was the off-white of the ceiling, which didn't tell him much. So he opened his eyes all the way and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Cuddy's bedroom.

It hadn't worked.

Well _of course_ it hadn't worked! Had House ever seriously thought he could go back in time and change the past?

No, not really.

He had just hoped.

House gave a silent sigh. He would schedule an MRI—a _supervised brain_ MRI, not these ridiculous leg MRIs he kept not giving himself—today, see if there was something there that would explain these ridiculous hallucinations. He grabbed his phone—6:42 a.m. on Friday the 12th. Well at least the date made sense. What _didn't_ make sense was the fact that Cuddy was still in bed next to him; she usually woke up early in the mornings and worked out. Like House used to before his infarction. Well, since it was already kind of late for her, she wouldn't mind if he woke her up...

He leaned over her and started kissing her neck. Cuddy made a sleepy sound before turning from her side onto her back. "House, not now," she whined, sounding exasperated. "I'm trying to sleep."

"It's six forty-five," he pointed out, continuing to mouth at her.

"And I'd like to spend the next fifteen minutes _sleeping_," she said firmly, turning over to roll away from him.

He stared at her. This wasn't like her at all. Even when she did refuse him sex, which wasn't often at all, she was always playful about it. She loved it as much as he did and was usually willing for a morning romp if they were both awake. House decided she must not be feeling well or maybe didn't get much sleep and didn't press her. He laid himself back down on the bed and dozed until it was time to get up.

As House started to go about his morning, he realised something was very off. Cuddy was much quieter than usual, and the outfit she picked, instead of borderline-unprofessional-sexy, was completely unflattering on her. And she...hadn't smiled all morning.

"What's wrong?" House asked her, spoon-feeding himself cereal while watching his girlfriend spoon-feed Rachel cereal.

Cuddy stared at him. "What are you talking about?" It sounded defensive.

"You're not being yourself, that's all," House explained, watching her. "You weren't in the mood for sex, you've been giving me the silent treatment since I woke up, and that outfit makes you look like you've gained ten pounds."

She shocked him by tossing the spoon on the table. "You don't have to be such an asshole, House!" she said, picking up Rachel and taking her to the next room. He stared after her, openmouthed. What sort of Twilight Zone was this? Since when was Cuddy sensitive about her weight?—she had the best 44-year-old body House had ever seen on a non-celebrity. And in what universe would she swear in front of her two-year-old daughter?

Unless he was hallucinating. House's heart sank again. It really was getting bad. All right, as soon as he got to the hospital, he would get Wilson and ask him to give him an MRI...he knew Cuddy had asked him to tell her if his symptoms got worse, but since he wasn't even really sure the Cuddy he was seeing was real, he didn't want to do that. It scared him. He almost didn't trust himself to drive to the hospital, but he decided that was a better alternative than asking either pissed off Cuddy or hallucination Cuddy, if that was what she was, for a ride to work.


	4. Chapter 4

House burst into his best friend's office the moment he got to the hospital. "Wilson, I've gotta–" he cut himself off immediately, staring at the man at the desk. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. This wasn't Wilson, it was an overweight man with grey hair who looked to be in his sixties. And the office...all Wilson's posters and stupid little knick-knacks were gone. The man sitting at Wilson's desk took off his glasses and opened his mouth to talk, but House couldn't hear him. The office, though he could still sense he was there, became a little blurry as images began to flash before House's eyes. Not a dream, not a hallucination...More like...memories, except...memories of things that hadn't actually happened...

_House and Wilson stood in Cuddy's office. They were holding hands. She was staring at them in shock._

"_You're _what_?" she demanded._

"_We're _dating_," House said, raising his voice to match Cuddy's, as though she'd shouted because there were some noise she couldn't hear him over._

"_Lisa, it's true," Wilson confirmed, giving House's hand a squeeze. "House and I...are together. Romantically."_

"_I don't believe this," she said, sitting down as though the shock prevented her from remaining on her feet._

"_Well, like he said, it's true," House said. He turned to Wilson and kissed him._

_._

"_Congratulations, Greg," Darryl Nolan said, smiling at House from his comfortable chair. "You took a risk opening your heart up to someone and it worked out in your favour."_

"_Yeah," House agreed, half-smiling. "It...worked. We're...together. And I'm...fuck, I'm happy."_

"_And I'm happy for you," the therapist told him with apparent sincerity._

"_So..." House said cheerfully. "I accomplished the goal I set out for myself...does that mean I'm done here?"_

_Nolan laughed. "Not by a long shot."_

_._

_Cuddy stared at the floor of House's office. "Lucas proposed," she said._

"_Great," House said. "Congrats. About time you got hitched."_

"_I didn't say yes," she said, looking up at him. "I said I needed to think about it."_

"_What's there to think about?" House asked, perplexed. He took a step closer, watching her. "He loves you, you love him, he's good for Rachel–"_

"–_I do love him," Cuddy interjected, looking at House._

"_So what's–"_

"–_but I'm not in love with him." She'd stepped closer to House. A tear slid down one of her cheeks. "House, I'm in love with you," she whispered, taking his hand. "I...I've always been in love with you."_

_And when she leaned up to kiss him, he didn't stop her. Yes, he was with Wilson now, he was in love with Wilson, but he cared deeply for Cuddy as well, and he couldn't help but wonder..._

"_What the hell!" Wilson's voice came from the doorway moments later. House and Cuddy pulled apart, staring at him._

"_Wilson, it's not..." House said quickly, "...it was just a kiss..."_

_._

_Wilson slammed the suitcase shut._

"_Wilson, don't do this," House pleaded. "I love you, you know I love you."_

"_You kissed Cuddy," Wilson responded, glaring at him. "And don't pretend like it was just platonic or just one-sided—I saw it. And you didn't pull apart until I shouted, you would have kept on going if I hadn't interrupted you."_

"_I would never sleep with someone other than you!" House shouted. "It was just a stupid kiss, Wilson. I'm not in love with her and I never have been."_

"'_Not in love with her'? Maybe you're not _in love_ with her, House, but don't pretend like you don't have unresolved feelings for her," Wilson argued, hands on his hips. "You knew her first, you hooked up with her, and you've spent the last ten years flirting with her every bit as much as you've flirted with me if not more."_

"_All right, so I was interested in her for awhile, but all that changed the second you kissed me," House pointed out. "She's not the one I want to be with, Wilson."_

"_It doesn't matter anymore," Wilson said, shaking his head and zipping up his bag. "I've already made up my mind. I can't do this, House. I can't be in a relationship with you with Cuddy tempting you at every corner."_

"_So take me with you!" House urged. "Fuck Cuddy! We'll get out of here together, away from her!"_

"_And where are you gonna work?" Wilson demanded. "How are you gonna get a job somewhere else when you're too much of a liability for anyone to hire?"_

"_Why, Cuddy, when did you get a sex change?" House inquired without a trace of humour._

_Wilson threw his hands into the air. "Fuck you, House. Fuck all this. I'm out of here."_

_._

"_House..." Cuddy said softly._

"_He left me, Cuddy," he said, glaring at her. "He's gone and he's not coming back this time."_

"_House, I'm sorry–"_

"–_You should be!" he shouted. "It's your damn fault!"_

"_Hey, you kissed me back!" she argued, apologetic tone disappearing on the spot. "You want a relationship with me too, don't deny it!"_

"_I wanted one back before I was with Wilson, Cuddy, but not during!"_

"_Then you should have told me no!" she pointed out. "You didn't push me away—I thought you wanted it! You only got together with Wilson after you found out I was with Lucas, what was I supposed to think?" _

"_That it actually _is_ possible for me to love someone more than I love you, Cuddy," House snapped._

"_I had no way of knowing that," she said, folding her arms. "You didn't back away, you didn't push me away, so I assumed you wanted it just as much as I did."_

"_Cuddy, you'd just made a declaration of love to me, you were emotional–"_

"–_and since when does that matter to you?" Cuddy interrogated. "If it were anyone but me my state of mind wouldn't have made a difference. Admit it, House, you have feelings for me!"_

"_Of course I have feelings for you!" House shouted. "That doesn't mean they're stronger than the ones for Wilson!"_

"_Well Wilson's gone," Cuddy said, a tone of finality to her voice. "He's gone, and like you said, he's not coming back. So you can either be alone and miserable or you can be with me, House, someone you know you care about. Make your choice, House."_

_._

_House lay in bed with Cuddy. He didn't speak; she slid a hand through his hair. "See?" she said softly. "We can have this. We can be together...everything can be okay..."_

_._

"_The least you could do is not act so miserable all the time!" Cuddy shouted, tears streaming down her face. "How are we supposed to be happy if you won't even smile at me, if you won't ever touch me except for when we're having sex?"_

"_I act miserable because I am miserable!" House shouted back. "My best friend of twenty years just left me, what the fuck do you expect?"_

"_Don't swear in front of my daughter!"_

"_Then quit starting arguments when she's in the room!"_

_Rachel covered her face with her small hands, crying, and when Cuddy bent down to placate her she scampered off to her room, causing Cuddy to glare at House. "Great, now she's scared of me too! God, House, all I want is to just _try_ to be happy, is that too much to ask?"_

"_Go be happy then!" he ordered. "_You_ get to be in a relationship with the man you love, _you _should be fucking thrilled!"_

"_House, I _get_ it, you love Wilson _exponentially _more than me and I can never compare to him, I kn–"_

"–_I never said that!"_

"_But you imply it _all the fucking time_!" she moaned, tears streaming down her face. "Any time I get mad at you for anything you bring it up! How many times do you need me to say I'm sorry, House? What do you want me to do—grovel? Get down on bended knee and beg for your love?"_

"_I _do_ love you," he said, glaring at her. "I've told you I do and I do, what more do you want from me?"_

"_How about _showing_ it once in a while?" she suggested. "Actually smile at me, hug me for no other reason than to hug me...god, House, make me feel _loved_! Because right now I feel like a piece of shit."_

"_And all this yelling makes me feel just fantastic," House said sarcastically._

_Cuddy shook her head. "Forget it. Just forget it, House. You want to be miserable? Fine, be miserable. See if I care."_

"_Are you breaking up with me?" he asked._

"_No!" she said, her voice breaking. "God, House, I _love_ you! I want to _be _with you! I'm just sick of being in second place!"_

"_I never said you were–"_

"–_And I'm sick of all the arguing," she said, shaking her her head and looking more defeated than he'd ever seen her. "So whatever. Be right if you wanna be right. I'm going to bed." She turned around and walked away._

"Dr. House?"

House was jolted back to the present by mystery-doctor's voice. But only for a second, because then he was remembering...

"_Hello," the overweight grey-haired man said, holding out a hand for House to shake. "I'm Ed Johnson. I'm replacing Dr. Wilson as head of oncology."_

"_Fuck you," House muttered. "You can't just _replace_ Wilson. How expendable do you think he is?"_

Then back to the present again. The man—Johnson—was looking at him with concern. "Are you all right?"

House nodded very slowly. "Wilson..." he said, looking at the wall behind Johnson's head. "...Wilson left."

"Yes," Johnson said, nodding. "Wilson left several months ago; are you sure you're okay?"

"But we were..." House continued, looking around the office. "...We were..."

Johnson looked down at the desk. "Dr. Cuddy told me you and Dr. Wilson were a couple. I...I'm sorry for your loss, Dr. House."

House nodded. "We _were_. We actually were." He could remember it. He could remember it just like it actually happened. Because...in this...reality, or whatever it was...it had actually happened. So either this neurological disorder was even worse than he thought, or he actually _had_ altered the past.

He stepped outside Johnson's office and went back to his own.

It was...impossible to believe. It defied all logic. But House was a logical man. Why would his brain come up with such an unrealistic hallucination, if that was what it was? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that everything that had happened was real. It explained everything. During House and Cuddy's one night stand they'd only had sex once—but he accidentally went back and changed it so they had sex twice. Then he woke up slightly confused, had sex with Cuddy, and went throughout his day. When he went back to the MRI machine that night, he'd gone back to earlier that morning and had a confusing discussion with Cuddy instead of morning sex. But neither of those had been life-altering changes, so they weren't accompanied by a wave of new memories and a completely different life. But going back and starting a relationship with Wilson—that _had_ been a life-altering change. The only problem was that he'd changed it for the worse. Not only were he and Wilson no longer together, they weren't even friends. And he was with Cuddy, but instead of being happy together the pair of them were miserable.

House didn't want to live like this. Being with Cuddy and not Wilson he could handle—he loved her, after all. Having Wilson completely cut out from his life and trapped in a relationship that was more fighting than anything else he couldn't handle. He would have to change things again.


	5. Chapter 5

House reasoned that his relationship with Wilson had ended so abruptly because they hadn't been together in a romantic sense long enough to endure something like a thoughtless kiss. But if they'd started the relationship sooner, been together for a few years instead of a few months, then hopefully Wilson would forgive the transgression, or maybe it wouldn't even occur in the first place.

Wait...

If he and Wilson were together for a few _years_, then it _wouldn't_ occur in the first place. Wilson would never have fallen in love with Amber because he'd have been with House, she never would have died, Wilson never would have left, and House would never have hired to Lucas to help him stalk him. So Cuddy and Lucas never would have met, never would have started dating, and he would never have proposed to her, prompting her to confront her feelings for House.

Perfect. Everything should work out. Assuming Wilson's feelings for House hadn't just developed over the last year...but wait...he was remembering.

"_I love you," Wilson whispered, stroking the side of House's face as he lay under him._

"_Yeah," House smiled. "Ditto."_

"_How long?" Wilson whispered, running fingers through his short hair. "I mean, we've been friends for such a long time, how long have you..."_

_House shook his head. "I don't know. Years, probably. I think it was gradual. The epiphany didn't occur 'til Mayfield, but that's only 'cause I was in denial for a long time." He sighed. "I think I've sort of always known."_

"_Me too," Wilson agreed. "I mean, the first time I really noticed feelings was when we were living together for awhile after I divorced Julie, being in such close contact with you, but I think I loved you before then."_

"_Yeah." House was tired of talking. He leaned his head forward and kissed Wilson instead._

Well, he had his answer. He would go back to the time when Wilson had been staying with him after the divorce...and...try and turn the friendship into a romantic relationship.

.

As he rode his bike to the hospital in the middle of the night, all House could think about was that he hadn't gotten out of there soon enough. It was hard to believe he and Cuddy hadn't broken up—all evening she'd been acting more like a woman trapped in a loveless marriage than anything else. House discovered the reason she'd blown up that morning—it hadn't just been her outfit that made her look like she'd gained weight, she actually _had_ gained about ten pounds since she'd been with House. Not that she wasn't hot anymore; House was still very attracted to her and she was still in much better shape than most women her age, but she was sensitive about it. And they had had sex before bed, but it had...almost sucked. She had barely even seemed into it and had just rolled over onto her side afterwards instead of cuddling with him. The tension between them was almost tangible and House got up and left as soon as she was asleep.

Now that he was outside, riding his bike, flying through the wind, he felt better, but was still worried. What if it didn't work this time? It was still almost impossible to believe that it had worked the first time. House wondered if he was really here, or maybe he was actually in a padded cell in Mayfield wearing a straightjacket. Or in a coma. But since he had no way of knowing that, and this felt real, he was going to continue operating under the assumption that it was.

As he programmed the MRI machine, House thought about what day to pick. Wilson had stayed with him for a few weeks, they'd had some ups and downs, and then Wilson had left to move in with Cancer Girl. But one of the 'up's during that time was definitely the night the hospital was having a poker benefit and House had solved a twelve-year-old case. That had been a good night.

House changed into the gown, lay down and slid into the machine. He thought about him and Wilson sitting at a poker table, laughing...

**April 11, 2006**

House took a drag on his cigar. Wilson was still laughing. Did he have any idea how that smile lit up his entire face? Right, focus on the task at hand.

"House, I'm giving you until the count of three to call or I'm assuming you're folding...three, two–"

"–Speaking of penises," House interrupted, causing Wilson to snort again, "don't do it."

"Don't do what?" Wilson asked, sobering, as House added two twenties to the centre of the table.

"I know you're thinking about moving in with that cancer girl. Don't."

Wilson stared at him in shock. "How do you?–"

"–I come from the future," House said wisely. Then he rolled his eyes. "Two weeks ago you were home every night, last week you had to 'work late' three times, one of them on a Saturday. So unless the spring weather is causing a sudden outbreak of cancer..."

"All right," Wilson muttered, glancing around and keeping his voice low. "So you know about Grace, how did you know I was thinking of moving in with her?"

House shrugged. "Well, given the choice of permanent residence between a urine-soaked couch and a bed with a pretty girl in it, it's understandable why the majority of the human population would pick the couch. You, on the other hand–"

"–I thought you were trying to talk me out of it," Wilson said, furrowing his brow. "You might want a try tactic other than reminding me of the many detriments of your couch."

"Who said anything about my couch?" House asked, glancing at Wilson's cards and collecting his winnings. "I'm talking about my bed."

Wilson, about to deal again, stopped and stared at House across the table. "Your what?"

"My _bed_," House repeated, drawing the word out. "Now, while it doesn't have the advantage of a sexy cancer chick, you won't lose your medical license if people find out you're sleeping there. You'll be the nursing staff's choice of gossip for awhile, but hey, gotta take the bad with the good."

"House, what are you...?" Wilson looked around the room again, blushing furiously. He leaned closer to the table and whispered, "I'm not gay!"

"Really?" House asked lightly. "Oh, my mistake. I should've realised it was just a phase you're going through, it should go away on its own."

Wilson wasn't looking at him. He'd dealt them each other hand and was staring determinedly at his cards.

"Or maybe," House continued, watching Wilson, "you thought if you found a new girlfriend, she'd be able to distract you. But what happens when you don't have her anymore, Wilson? Then what?"

Wilson threw the cards onto the table and glared at House. "What do you want from me?" he asked in a stage-whisper. "You want me to move out? Well as you obviously know, I was already planning on it. You want me to move out sooner? Fine, I'll get a motel until I can talk to Grace."

House rolled his eyes. "Wilson, have you not been listening to any part of our conversation? I just said I _don't_ want you to move out." He nudged Wilson's hand with his fingers, causing the younger man to look up and allowing House to make eye contact with him. House used the opportunity to give his friend a very open look of affection so his next words would not be misinterpreted. "I want you to stay."

The two doctors stared at each other from across the table. House worried momentarily that Wilson still might reject his advance—that would not bode well for their futures—but he wanted this to progress and in order for that to happen Wilson needed to see that he meant it. He needed to see in House's eyes that House loved him.

Wilson was the first to look away. "I..." he murmured, picking up the cards again. "I'd really rather not spend another night on that couch." He chanced a quick glance up at House. "But if you really want me to stay, I'll stay." Then he gave the tiniest of smiles and dealt each of them a hand.

It wasn't long before Cuddy interrupted telling them to quit playing cards and actually do some work. Unfortunately, Wilson took her words to heart and House accompanied him upstairs to their offices.

"Well, I've got rounds," Wilson said with a sigh as they got off the elevator. "You gonna go hide until Cuddy finds another case for you?"

"I was thinking about taking a nap," House said. "If you let me use the sofa in your office, we can make out later," he suggested, and smirked when Wilson's face turned as red as the queen of hearts.

"It's gonna..." he muttered to the floor, "...take me awhile to...get used to the idea..."

"Well," House shrugged. "We've got time." And he gave the side of Wilson's mouth a quick kiss before turning around and heading for his office.

—

Soft lips on his. Hmm. That felt nice. Tongue sliding in. Familiar. Very familiar. A hand on the side of his face. A soft hand. A small hand.

Wilson's hands weren't that small, were they? House reached his own hand up. There was the face, and the hair...he trailed his fingers through it. Long hair.

Yes, it was Cuddy. Not Wilson.

House opened his eyes anyway, and Cuddy backed away for a second, smiling at him.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he whispered back. Then they resumed their previous activity.

Well, at least this time they didn't hate each other. Or was he waking up for real now and all of the alternate universes had been a dream?

"Lise, wait," he muttered, pulling back.

"What's up?" she asked, pulling her tank top off.

As a result of this, for a second House forgot what he was going to say, but then it came back to him. "What day is it?"

"Saturday," she replied, straddling him. "So once we're done here you can go right back to sleep, I promise." She mouthed his neck. "But Rachel's still sleeping so I thought we could have a quickie."

"No complaints here," he said, and then decided the rest of the conversation could wait until they finished.

She lay contentedly in his arms while he stroked her hair.

"You..." he said wistfully, "...you remember that time when I was in med school and we hooked up?"

"Yeah, of course," she responded, leaning against his chest. She wasn't getting exasperated or confused about him bringing it up, which meant this must not be the third day in a row they'd had this conversation. House didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

"We went back to your room," he continued, "and then we had sex...and then...you fell asleep first. I watched you for awhile. And I kissed your forehead."

"I know," she murmured. "You thought I was asleep, but I wasn't. I felt it. You stroked my hair, too. I remember it."

House nodded. So that was still changed, because when it had happened the first time around he hadn't done either of those things. He'd watched her sleep for awhile and put his hand on her back between her shoulder blades, but he hadn't run his fingers through her hair or kissed her after. "You know I wanted to call you," he murmured. "After. Make it more than just once. I told you that, right?"

She backed away a bit to look at him. She was smiling. "No, you never told me that."

"No?" he asked, sitting up straighter. "I thought I told you...at the medical conference..."

"Which medical conference?"

"The one...it was about a year ago. Last November."

Cuddy shook her head. "Greg, we spent that whole weekend fighting. A sentimental moment would have been refreshing, I think I'd remember it."

House frowned. They'd had a couple of awkward moments with Lucas, but he wouldn't exactly call it fighting. Unless that hadn't happened. Unless he had...changed the future...again, prevented Lucas and Cuddy from ever meeting. But if that was the case, then why was he with Cuddy and not Wilson?

"Hmm," House muttered, shaking his head. "Guess I was...mistaken."

"All right," Cuddy said. "Well I am going to go make breakfast." She kissed his temple on her way out of bed. "I'll wake you up before your appointment."

"What appointment?" House mumbled, settling back in under the covers.

"With Darryl, it's been two weeks since your last one," she said, pulling on a robe.

So he was still seeing Nolan. Well, there were worse things.

"Okay, save me some pancakes," he called as Cuddy went into the hall.

She shook her head in what was hopefully exasperation, not denial, and he went back to sleep.

.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Cuddy's cheerful voice filtered into House's brain.

He grudgingly sat up and saw she was smiling at him.

"If you get up in the next five minutes, your breakfast will still be warm when you get to the table," she encouraged.

House yawned. "Or I could sleep for another fifteen minutes and heat it up in the microwave."

"You know it never tastes as good after being microwaved," she pointed out. Then she kissed him. "Come on, up."

"All right, all right," he muttered, grabbing his cane and getting out of bed.

He made his way into the kitchen where a plate of pancakes (he smiled to himself) was sitting at the table waiting for him. As he began to dig in, Cuddy appeared from around the corner and House stopped his fork on the way to his mouth, staring at her.

Cuddy was holding a chubby blonde baby that looked to be between four and five months of age.

"What?" Cuddy asked, frowning at him and adjusting her grip on the infant.

"Who..." House muttered, staring from the baby to Cuddy and back again.

"Greg, what's wrong?" she asked, stepping closer to him and looking concerned. "Why are you staring at Rachel like that?"

"That..." he said, catching Cuddy's confused eye. "That's Rachel?"

"Of course, who else would it be?" She looked at him with concern. "Greg, you're scaring me. We adopted Rachel four months ago, you know that."

"What? 'We'?" He was just as confused as she was.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Well, technically _I_ adopted her, but yeah, it's been four months. Greg, what's the matter? Why are you acting like this? Are you feeling all right?"

"I..." House muttered. "I don't...know..." So Cuddy had never adopted the Rachel House knew, and from the sound of it the two of them had already been together when she adopted _this_ Rachel. But why now, why not two years ago? What had happened?

"Lisa," House said, looking at her carefully for clarification. "Wilson and I were...together..."

Cuddy's shoulders slumped and she looked away. "Yeah," she said softly. "You were."

"How...long?" House asked. "I...for the life of me I can't remember how long we were together."

She looked at him again. "Well," she said, her voice quiet, "the two of you got together in spring of oh-six and...the accident...was in spring of oh-eight..."

"What?" House said, staring at her.

Cuddy shook her head. "I can't remember the date, I'm not sure if it was just over two years or just under two years. If you...don't remember the date, your wallet's on the kitchen counter."

That made about as much sense as a tennis shoe teaching a physics class, but instead of explaining herself Cuddy took the baby (took _Rachel_, House reminded himself) back toward their bedroom. Abandoning his pancakes, House grabbed his cane and heaved himself out of his chair and into the kitchen, where he spotted his wallet. He opened it hurriedly, dumping out the cash and credit cards looking for a clue, and a photograph fell out. House picked it up and stared at it and the universe turned upside down.

The photograph was of a headstone. The headstone read 'James Evan Wilson, March 30, 1965 - May 19, 2008'


	6. Chapter 6

Memories came flooding over House like a tidal wave. Dropping the photo, House grabbed onto the edge of the kitchen counter to steady himself.

_House could hear a heart monitor beeping. He squinted his eyes open to see Wilson at his bedside, holding his hand._

"_You're awake!" Wilson said, his voice full of relief. He bent over the bed to kiss him, and House kissed back, squeezing his hand._

"_I...I was shot..." House murmured._

"_I know," Wilson whispered, kissing his knuckles. "But you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."_

"_Did they..." House breathed, staring at Wilson, "...give me...ketamine?"_

_Wilson nodded. "There's..." he whispered, "...there's a fifty percent chance you'll regain full use of your leg..."_

"_Wilson..." House said, smiling. "Do you know what this means?"_

"_What?"_

"_We can finally do it standing up with your legs around me." House grinned and Wilson gave him a gentle, playful shove._

_._

_House panted, hands on his knees. Wilson caught up with him, collapsing on the grass and leaning against a tree. "I'm...wiped out," the younger man said, putting fingers to his wrist to feel his pulse._

"_That...really all you got?" House asked between pants. "I'm...the one who...hasn't run in...seven years...and I've...got a good six years on you."_

"_I..." Wilson panted, wiping sweat from his forehead, "...commend you. But...three miles is my...limit."_

"_We've only...run...two-point-seven..."_

_Wilson gave House the finger, causing him to laugh and fall to the ground beside his friend. "You know you want to," he teased. He traced a finger up the side of Wilson's sweat-soaked shirt for emphasis, and then leaned forward for a kiss._

"_We're in public," Wilson objected, dodging his head to avoid House._

_House rolled his eyes. "There's like two other people here. And no one's looking at us. Just a damn kiss, Wilson."_

_Wilson smiled, getting up. "Maybe..." he said, "...if you can catch me." And he took off down the path._

_Grinning, House shoved himself off the grass and ran after him, catching up easily and pushing Wilson against a tree to fulfil the promise. Just a kiss—they were in public after all—and then he pulled back, still breathing heavily from the exertion of the run. Wilson's fingers combed through his sweaty hair, and out of nowhere House laughed. _

"_What?" Wilson asked, looking at House with a half-smile._

"_I can't believe it," House muttered, shaking his head. "I'm happy. Wilson, god, I'm fucking happy!" He leaned against Wilson against the tree, still shaking his head in disbelief, sneaking an arm around his waist._

_._

_Wilson stared at him. "You're using the cane again."_

"_You're wearing an ugly tie. Oh, sorry, thought we were playing State the Obvious." Wilson looked away, and House did too. "I told you it hurt, Wilson. You didn't want to listen to me."_

_Wilson sighed. "I'll...get my prescription pads."_

_._

"_House, just apologise to him."_

"_No. He's an asshole."_

"_That doesn't make it okay to leave a thermometer in him!" Wilson argued. "House, he's a cop, he can make your life very difficult. Face it, it's not like you're the poster boy for law-abiding citizens."_

"_The man got what he deserved. He's a cop—he believes in justice, right?"_

"_I'm sure he'll see it that way," Wilson said sarcastically. "Please, House, just tell him you're sorry. You don't even have to mean it, just say it, just...to not make another enemy."_

"_I'm not apologising, Wilson."_

"_House..." Wilson sighed. He sat down on the sofa next to his best friend and took his hand. "Listen to me," Wilson pleaded, looking House in the eye. "Less than six months ago, you were shot. You could have died. You don't know what it's like to see someone you love fighting for their life on a hospital bed. House, if this guy investigates you, you could end up in jail. I can't let that happen. I almost lost you once, House, and I'm not letting that happen again. Apologise to him."_

_House sighed. "Fine," he muttered._

_._

_Wilson kissed House._

"_I thought you didn't believe in PDA," House whispered after they pulled back._

"_Apparently that changes once I've had a few drinks in me," Wilson commented, kissing him again. "Besides, it's a bar and we're in a corner booth. It hardly counts."_

"_Well I'm cutting you off," House murmured. "The last thing I need is for it to not work when we get home."_

"_Hey, House," Wilson said, grinning._

"_What?"_

_Wilson grabbed his hand and placed in his lap under the table._

"_Jeez, Wilson," House said, pulling away but not hiding his impressment. "Maybe we should...get home..."_

"_I agree," Wilson said happily, and the two men left the bar._

_Too drunk to drive, Wilson was about to hail a cab but House noticed a bus arriving at the stop just across the street from the bar. Cheaper than a cab. They sat down and chatted on the way home, about everything and nothing._

_Then blinding white lights._

_Then silence._

_Then an explosion and screaming and crying and blurs of colours._

_Then black._

_._

_The heart monitor gave a long, protesting beep. It did not stop. Why wasn't it stopping? It was supposed to give off short, steady beeps, not one long whiny beep. Stop beeping! Stop beeping! House felt like his head would explode if the sound continued one second longer!_

"_House..."_

"_No."_

"_House, I'm so sor–"_

"_NO!"_

"_We did everything we–"_

"_DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME?" he screamed at her, his voice hoarse. "I SAID NO!"_

_Tears streamed down Cuddy's face, and he couldn't stand to look at her so he turned away, toward Wilson in the hospital bed, who was only sleeping. He was only sleeping. The machine was broken. House stroked his face. He would wake up and he would be fine. The machine was broken. It had to be broken. Because this was Wilson. Wilson couldn't...Wilson couldn't..._

_A tear hit the blanket, and House wiped his eyes angrily. No, there was no reason to cry because Wilson wasn't dead. He...he couldn't be...dead..._

_Cuddy turned off the broken heart monitor. She knelt down gingerly beside House's chair._

"_House..." she said very slowly, looking up at him._

_House shook his head, aware that tears were sliding down his face and frustrated because there was no logical reason for them to be there. "No," he said._

"_House, they...they need to take him down to the morgue."_

"_No," he repeated, shaking his head._

_But when they did arrive to take him away, he didn't have the energy to fight them. He remained in his chair staring straight forward. He didn't know how long he sat there. The doctor part of his brain told him he was in shock but he ignored it. What did it know, anyway? Doctors didn't know anything. Doctors were saying Wilson was dead, but they were idiots because Wilson couldn't die. What did doctors know?_

"_House," Cuddy said gently, and he somehow managed to focus his eyes on hers. They were a clear blue. The opposite of Wilson's. "House, you've been sitting here for hours," she whispered. "Come on, you need to get up. You need to stretch your leg, you need to eat something."_

_He didn't argue with her. He didn't say anything. She helped him up from his chair. He didn't fight._

_She took him home to his apartment. She talked to him. He didn't hear her. She tried to get him to eat. He ate a few bites and stopped._

_He didn't know how long it was. He didn't remember sleeping, bathing, going to the bathroom, getting dressed. But he was wearing different clothes and Cuddy was driving them somewhere. And there were a lot of people and everyone was wearing black and House knew it was a funeral but he wasn't entirely sure whose it was. Something in his brain was telling him it was Wilson's funeral, but that couldn't be true because Wilson didn't die._

_Cuddy was holding House's hand as they walked back to the car. House paused and turned back. There were only a few people still walking from the burial plot up the hill to the parking lot; most had made it there already._

"_House, you okay?" Cuddy asked._

"_This was Wilson's funeral," House whispered._

_She squeezed his hand. "Yes, House, it was."_

_He turned to look at her. "Wilson is dead."_

_Cuddy nodded, a couple of tears escaping her eyes. "I know."_

"_Wilson is dead," House repeated. He looked from Cuddy back down the hill to the grave and back again. "He's not coming back."_

"_No, House, he's not."_

_He stared at her, and she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. He slowly hugged her back. And then he started crying. And he couldn't stop. Part of him wanted to stop, but what the hell did dignity matter when Wilson was gone from the world? And even if he'd wanted to stop he couldn't, he didn't know how._

_Eventually...House wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually it stopped itself. Cuddy pulled back and wiped the tears from his face. She took his hand again and led him back to the car._

_._

"_I want to go back to work."_

_She frowned at him. "Are you sure you're ready?"_

"_Cuddy, I've got to. I can't stand it. We lived here two years, being stuck inside this apartment twenty-four-seven..."_

"_Of course," she said, shaking her head. "If you want to come back to work, come back to work. Whatever you need. And House..." she bit her lip and hesitated._

"_What?"_

"_Don't take this the wrong way, but...if being here...really bugs you...you can come stay with me for awhile."_

_He stared at her. "'Don't take this the wrong way'?" he repeated. "What the hell does that mean? Which way am I supposed to take it?"_

_Cuddy sighed. "What I mean is that your boyfriend just died and I know the last thing on your mind is another relationship, so I don't want you to think that's what I'm asking you for. But I want you to know I..." she took a step closer to him, keeping eye contact. "...I'm here for you. For...whatever you need. Whatever I can do to help you through this, House, I'll do it, because I care about you more than you know." She squeezed his arm gently before backing away. "Just think about it," she whispered. And she turned to leave, but House stopped her._

"_Cuddy, wait," he muttered, and she turned around. "You're right," he sighed. "Another relationship is the last thing I'm thinking about." He looked up and made eye contact with her. "But I'll take you up on your offer to stay with you."_

_._

_House stared at the photograph. 'James Evan Wilson, March 30, 1965 - May 19, 2008, Beloved Son, Brother, and Best Friend.'_

"_You know I love you," he whispered. "It was always you. Most. No matter what happens, don't forget that." He stuck the photo back into his wallet and put his wallet on the bed. Then he stepped outside the bedroom and crossed the hall to Cuddy's room. He tapped on the door._

"_Come in," she called, and he did._

_She was sitting in bed, reading, but she looked up and smiled at him. "What's up?"_

"_I..." he muttered without looking at her. "I want to...thank you," he said very softly. The words didn't come naturally to him. But this woman had done so much for him over these past months and he was more grateful than he could express with words. He could never love her as much as he'd loved Wilson, not by a long shot, but he did love her. A lot. She'd been right there this whole time when he'd needed her, she'd been so patient and gentle with him, she'd understood what he needed, and he loved her all the more for it. He looked up at her. She was so pretty. "Can I..." he asked slowly, watching her face to gauge her reaction. "...can I sleep in here tonight?"_

_Cuddy put her book down and nodded. "Yeah, of course."_

_He gave her a weak smile and joined her in the bed. She scooted close to him. He turned to her. He looked at her. He kissed her._

_._

_It was almost ten-thirty, so House grudgingly decided to get up. He brushed his teeth, trimmed his beard, peed, popped some Vicodin, and headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. He stopped in his tracks._

"_Hey," Wilson greeted, smiling up at him from the bed. "Miss me?"_

_._

"_Greg, it's gotta be the Vicodin," Cuddy said, holding his hand and shaking her head. "We've ruled out every other possible cause."_

"_Lisa, I _need_ the Vicodin," House implored. "You don't understand."_

"_There are other pain management options, and it's time to explore them, Greg. You need to get off the opiates."_

_House shook his head._

_Cuddy sighed. "I know you're scared. Withdrawal hurts. And more than that, I know part of you wants to keep having these hallucinations because it means you get to see Wilson again."_

_He didn't look at her. She'd hit the nail on the head with that one, and they both knew it._

"_But you know it's not really him, Greg," she reminded him, stroking his face. "Wilson is dead, and hallucinating isn't going to bring him back. That...thing you're seeing isn't the man you were in love with. It's just your own subconscious."_

"_Better than nothing," House muttered and instantly regretted it. He loved Cuddy. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean that."_

_She sighed again. "I know." She kissed his cheek and got up. "There's a really nice place called Mayfield Psychiatric. I'm going to give them a call, and if there's an opening I'll drive you there in the morning."_

"_No," House muttered._

_Cuddy turned around and walked back over to him. She bent down to be on his level and took his chin in her hands. "Greg, listen to me," she whispered. She kissed him chastely. "You _will_ get better. You will go there, they'll help you, and then they'll release you." She kissed him again. "And I will be here waiting for you when you get out, I promise." She kissed him again. "I love you."_

_._

_Cuddy cuddled against House, pulling his arm around her shoulders. "Greg, there's something I want to talk to you about," she said._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Do you remember how a few years ago I was trying to get pregnant?"_

"_Yeah," he repeated._

"_Well, obviously that didn't work out, but since then I'd been thinking about maybe adopting a baby."_

_She paused to look at him a moment before deciding it was safe to plough on. "Two years ago I was seriously considering it. I was researching all the paperwork and everything, even looking at potential birthmothers. But then...everything happened with Wilson and with you, so I put it on hold. And now...you've been out of Mayfield for a year now, and it's been almost two years since Wilson died, so I was wondering...if that might be a possibility for us."_

_Cuddy looked at him hopefully. House expelled a long breath. "I need to think about it," he muttered. "You know I'm not really a kid person."_

"_I know," Cuddy admitted. "And it's not...a deal-breaker or anything, I'm not gonna dump you if you say no, it's just...something I've really wanted for a really long time."_

House gripped Cuddy's kitchen counter tightly. He was aware that his hands were shaking. He really had done it again. He'd gone and changed the past...again. But this time...by doing it he'd killed Wilson.

"Greg, you okay?" Cuddy asked, entering the kitchen. She frowned when she saw him, rushing over. "Greg, what happened? You're white as a sheet."

He turned to her. "Wilson's dead," he whispered.

"Yeah," Cuddy said, looking away. "I know. Greg, you're not hallucinating him again, are you?"

House shook his head. "I...I feel like crap. Forget the appointment, I need to lie down."

"Greg, are you sure?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "I could drive you if you want. You don't have a fever, do you?"

"Lisa, please," House muttered. "I just...I can reschedule the appointment for next week."

"All right, if you're sure," she said, looking skeptical. Fortunately, though, she allowed him to walk past her and he collapsed onto their bed.

He needed to change this. He needed to go back and fix it. He wasn't going to let Wilson die. But what would prevent them from going to that particular bar on that particular night?

Not a lot—House went there all the time because it was relatively close to the apartment.

But...House's eyes widened. If he and Wilson _weren't_ living in that apartment, then if they wanted a night out getting drunk, they would go to a different bar, they would take a different bus (or a taxi) home, and they wouldn't get into that accident.

Wow. That meant going back far; House had lived in the same apartment since after his infarction when Stacy left. And the only reason he'd left the apartment he'd lived in with her was because still recovering meant he was home all the time and it was hard, the pain of being reminded of her in addition to the pain in his leg. But if House could go back to just before he moved, start a relationship with Wilson _then_...would it even work then? Had Wilson loved him even then? Well, even if he didn't, he wouldn't abandon his friend when he was recovering from both an infarction and a breakup, so hopefully they would at least maintain the status quo. But if it did work, if he and Wilson entered into a relationship while still living in the apartment he'd shared with Stacy, he wouldn't move to the apartment he had now. Even if the two did get a place of their own, it wouldn't be that particular apartment, Wilson would pick a much nicer place.

So in theory that should work. House hoped night would come quickly—he wanted to spend as little time as possible in a universe where Wilson was dead.


	7. Chapter 7

The instant Cuddy fell asleep that night House sped over to the hospital. He needed to get in that MRI machine ASAP. He hurried, as much as he could with his cane, up to the MRI room and quickly programmed the machine to the correct specifications. He climbed inside without even bothering to change into a hospital gown—what was the point? He was here to travel back in time, not scan his leg (god that sounded ridiculous)—and thought about an evening about a week and a half after Stacy had left him...

**September 10, 1999**

House gasped out in pain. God, his leg fucking _hurt!_ He'd forgotten it used to be this bad all the time. He spotted the bottle of Vicodin on his bedside table and grabbed for it. It didn't count as relapsing—this was ten years before he'd even gone to rehab.

Wilson entered the bedroom and frowned as House shook out two pills and dry-swallowed them. "House, didn't you just have some?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"Wilson," House breathed, staring at him. He was alive, he was all right! If House believed in god he would thank him.

"Yeah, I'm here," Wilson replied, walking over to the bed. "How is it? Are you going to be all right?"

"Hurts," House muttered, looking away. He rubbed furiously at the missing muscle, probably chafing his skin in the process. For a second he thought it had been a bad idea to come back to this time, but then he remembered that he had to, to save Wilson. Wilson. He could endure the pain for Wilson.

House turned back to Wilson, who had seated himself on the edge of the bed and was watching him. "Is there anything else I can get you?" he asked.

House shook his head.

"Well, it's getting late anyway," Wilson sighed. He looked House in the eye, and House knew the next question he would ask before he did. Not because he remembered this night in particular, because it was the same question he'd asked every night from the time Stacy left to the time House had returned to work and resumed functioning on his own. "Do you need me to stay the night?"

House shook his head, just like he always did. Maybe Bonnie blamed House for the demise of her marriage to Wilson, but he thought he'd been very good about sharing him. Wilson would go straight to House's after work to check on him, make or bring him dinner, help him with anything he needed, and then he would ask House if he needed him to stay the night. House would always say no, and Wilson would always go, sometimes as early as seven, sometimes not until eleven, back home to his wife. Only twice had House needed to call Wilson in the middle of the night and ask for him to come back. Besides, by then Bonnie had probably been sleeping already anyway and wouldn't miss him.

"All right," Wilson said, getting up. "Well, you have me on speed dial if you need anything. I'll be back tomorrow."

House nodded. "Wilson," he said, just as his friend reached the bedroom doorway. Wilson turned to look at him. House took a deep breath that he meant to be silent but that the pain had made shaky. He needed to do this. He needed Wilson to know how he felt, so something would happen...if it would happen...now, while he still lived here. House made eye contact with his best friend and let his emotions show through his expression. "I want you to stay."

"Oh," Wilson said, sounding surprised. "All...right, then. Just let me call Bonnie and then I'll set myself up on the sofa."

"No," House objected, maintaining eye contact. He squeezed his thigh. Damn, the thing hurt. When was the damn Vicodin going to kick in? "I want you...to stay...in here. I...I need you, Wilson." His words did not specify the context, but apparently the look in his eyes did, because Wilson shuffled his feet and looked away.

"House, listen," he muttered. "You...you're emotional. You just became physically handicapped, you just broke up with your girlfriend, you...you don't know what you want right now."

"Wilson, I need _something_," House argued. He let his eyes beg. He didn't usually like to make himself vulnerable, even to his best friend, but he knew he'd already done it countless times during this period of his life so one more couldn't make much difference. "I am...so fucked up right now, and I...I can't be alone. I...I don't have anyone, Wilson. You're my best friend, I...please. Wilson, you asked me if I needed anything and I do. I need you, I...please." He was using the p-word. He never used the p-word. Hopefully that would show Wilson how much he meant what he was saying, how much he wanted what he was asking for.

"I..." Wilson hesitated, then sighed. "Let me call Bonnie."

He left the room and House massaged his aching leg while he waited. The thing hurt like a bitch. Yes, it hurt every single minute of every single day of House's life, but it wasn't usually _this_ bad. Not anymore.

Wilson returned a few minutes later. House watched him as he sat on the edge of the bed and took his shoes and tie off. Then he stood back up and stripped down to his white T-shirt and boxers, doing so self-consciously because he could tell House was watching him. It definitely helped take his mind off his leg. Wilson got into bed and lay down about as close to the far edge as he could get, not saying anything.

House chuckled softly. "You know, you're gonna fall off the bed like that," he commented.

Wilson rolled his eyes and scooted further in, putting at least half a foot of space between himself and the edge of the bed. "That better?"

"It's an improvement," House acknowledged, "but I still think you could do better." He scooted himself closer to Wilson, and when the younger man didn't move he continued until he was right next to his best friend. Staring at his profile, House put a hand on Wilson's side, sliding it up his arm. When Wilson didn't object, he leaned his head forward and put his lips to Wilson's shoulder.

"House..." Wilson said, sitting up slightly and turning to him.

House sat up more as well and caught Wilson's eye. "What?"

Wilson sighed. "Are you...sure...this is really...what you want?"

"Yes, Wilson," House insisted. Then he hesitated. "I'm not trying to force you into anything. If _you_ don't want to do this, just say so. I'll leave you alone."

"No, it's just..." Wilson shook his head. "I don't want you to wake up in the morning and this is a mistake."

House scooted even closer, inwardly cursing his leg, and made eye contact with Wilson, their faces less than a foot away. "You're not a mistake," he said. And then he kissed him.

And Wilson kissed back. And midway through foreplay they had to stop because House's leg was spasming, and he felt ashamed but Wilson massaged his leg and soothed him until it passed, and then made love to him as though there had been no interruption. House fell asleep in his arms.

—

House woke up with an arm across his waist and smiled to himself. Maybe it had worked this time. Maybe Wilson hadn't died because they'd never moved to the apartment near the bar and he hadn't broken up with him because he hadn't kissed Cuddy because she'd never met and been proposed to by Lucas. His leg was hurting a touch more than usual, but it wasn't as bad as it had been last night, right after the infarction. Having not opened his eyes yet and too lazy to do so, he reached blindly for the ibuprofen bottle he kept on the nightstand. Locating it, he dumped two tablets in his hand and was in the process of transferring them to his mouth when he paused. He slid them around in his fingers. These weren't his ibuprofen pills—his ibuprofen pills were round and these were oblong.

He opened his eyes and immediately dropped the pills onto the bedspread. It was Vicodin. How...?

House must never have had hallucinations in this reality, prompting him to go to Mayfield and get off the drugs. Well that was really a good thing, right? He'd only had the hallucinations because he'd been taking too much Vicodin—if now he was only taking a reasonable amount instead of a ridiculous amount, that must mean his pain wasn't as bad in this reality.

His leg did hurt now, though. House hesitated. Did he really want to throw away almost a year and a half of sobriety? Well, really, if in this reality he had never gotten sober then he wasn't really throwing anything away. And besides, if he was still taking Vicodin there would be no need to have prescription-strength ibuprofen in the house, and there was no way Advil would do anything for his leg. Still...

House picked up the tablets from the bed, swallowed one, and put the other one back in the bottle. If his leg was still bad in a little while then he could take more.

He put the prescription bottle back on the nightstand, settled back down in the bed, and jumped when he saw who was next to him.

Cuddy. _Again_.

House felt his frustration grow. How did this keep happening? All right, yes, he loved Cuddy, better her than some stranger or...Cameron or someone, but why not Wilson?

Then House panicked. What if he'd been wrong about starting a relationship earlier preventing Wilson's death? What if the two had moved into that apartment anyway, or...well, people died sometimes, what if House's course of actions had somehow caused Wilson's death another way? Grabbing his cane, House hobbled out of bed and grabbed the first pair of jeans he encountered, searching the pockets for his wallet. Fortunately, it was in there, and House quickly shuffled through it. No headstone photographs. House's worry ebbed slightly but did not go away completely—this didn't necessarily mean Wilson was okay. He found his cell phone on the nightstand and dialled Wilson's office number. He could feel his heart pounding as it rang.

"You've reached the office of Dr. Lauren Bloom," a female voicemail recording announced, and House felt his heart drop in his chest. "I'm not in at the moment, but if you leave a message with your name and number I will get back to you shortly."

House hung up the phone and dropped it on the nightstand. It didn't mean Wilson was dead, he reminded himself. It just meant Wilson didn't work at PPTH anymore. How else could House check that he was okay? Would he have the same cell phone number in this reality? It was worth a shot.

The phone rang, and then a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"

Relief coursed through House's body. It was Wilson's voice. "Wilson," House breathed into the phone. "You're...you're okay."

"House?" Wilson said, sounding confused. "What are you...? How did you get this number? Why are you calling me? What do you want?"

"I..." House hesitated. What was he supposed to say? The memories of this lifetime hadn't come back to him yet—he didn't know what had happened between them. "I had a dream where you died," House half-lied. "I...I wanted to..." he trailed off.

For a moment there was silence on the other line. Then, "And what do you care if I die? Don't call here again, House." And a dial tone.

House stared at the phone in shock. That response had felt like a cat-o-nine-tails across the face and had actually caused House to tear up slightly, though they didn't leave his eyes. House not care if Wilson died? How...what kind of place was this? How could Wilson think that? Didn't he have any idea how much House loved him?

He needed to figure out what had happened, he needed to get the memories of this lifetime, this reality. He needed to find out what had gone wrong so he could go fix it.

In the last two alternate universes, the memories had come flooding back to him when he'd seen something drastically different from his own life that he hadn't been expecting. So what else was different that could jog his memory?

The bedroom was different, that was for sure, though it seemed vaguely familiar. House got out of bed, checked that Cuddy was still asleep, and walked around. When he got to the hallway, he realised that this was Cuddy's old house—not the one she'd bought when she was dating Lucas. That was interesting, because even in the reality where Wilson died (House cringed, he didn't want to think about it) they had been living in the new place. She had to have bought it with House that time, not Lucas, but why would she do so in that reality but not this one?

A survey of the other bedroom gave him a potential answer. There was no Rachel—baby or toddler. If Cuddy had never adopted a baby, there would be no need for her to get a bigger place with another bedroom. But why hadn't she adopted a baby? Had House objected too strongly?

House headed for the bathroom to see what other drugs were in the medicine cabinet. Maybe seeing a prescription for something he didn't expect would jog his memory.

Cuddy stirred in her sleep when House passed her but didn't wake. He closed the door to the bathroom, used the toilet, and opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Tylenol, House's blood-thinners, Cuddy's One A Day Women's and birth control, but nothing out of the ordinary. No extra Vicodin, surprisingly, but maybe he just kept it hidden somewhere. House sighed silently and closed the cabinet. Maybe after Cuddy woke up something...what was that?

House stared at his reflection in the cabinet mirror. There was a two-inch long vertical scar in the centre of his throat that did not belong there. House traced it with his finger. How did...? Before he could complete his thought, the room became blurry and images began to flash through House's brain.


	8. Chapter 8

"_Well," Wilson sighed, sitting down on the sofa beside House. "It's done. Bonnie and I are officially divorced."_

"_Awesome," House said, rubbing his thigh. "Did you bring the champagne?"_

_Wilson rolled his eyes. "We're not _toasting_ my divorce. And you know you're not supposed to have alcohol while you're on Vicodin."_

"_Bummer," House said. Then he turned to Wilson with an evil smirk. "I guess we'll have to find a different way to celebrate."_

_Wilson smiled back sheepishly and his hand met the side of House's face when the latter leaned in to kiss him._

_._

"_Hey."_

_Wilson looked up from his desk. "Hey."_

_House sat down on the sofa next the balcony door, twirling his cane between his fingers. "You didn't come home last night."_

_Wilson frowned. "I told you not to wait up for me, I was working late. I grabbed a couple hours of sleep here."_

_House paused. "You've been working late a lot lately," he commented._

"_Yeah, well, not all of us have the luxury of only having one patient at a time," Wilson pointed out, turning back to his paperwork._

_Sighing, House got up and left the office._

_._

_House was reading on the sofa when Wilson sat down next to him._

"_House, could you put that down for a second? I need to talk to you about something."_

_He took off his reading glasses, folded them and put them on top of the book before turning to face Wilson. He sighed. "What's her name?"_

_Wilson looked away. "Julie."_

_House nodded sadly. "Why are you telling me?"_

"_Why am I...?" Wilson stared at him in disbelief. "House, I'm telling you because I feel awful about it. I don't want to keep lying to you, it's not fair. Telling you is the right thing to do."_

"_Right," House said. When Wilson didn't say anything else, he asked, "Are you breaking up with me?"_

"_What?" Wilson fidgeted slightly. "House, why would you even ask that? I...I love you."_

"_So you're gonna stop seeing her then?"_

"_I..." Wilson looked at House carefully. "You're not breaking up with _me_? You're forgiving me?"_

"_Well that's what you want, isn't it?" House asked. "If you were leaving me for her you would at least have the balls to tell me to my face, be the one to break it off rather than making me the one to end it so you don't have to feel guilty about yet another failed relationship."_

"_That's not what I want," Wilson insisted, his eye contact with House faltering. "I...I just said I love you. If you...forgive me then we don't need to break up."_

"_So we're okay then?" House clarified, looking at Wilson carefully._

"_I..." Wilson muttered. "...I guess..."_

_House nodded. He picked up his book and put his glasses back on. He stared at the page in front of him instead of reading it._

_._

_House looked up from his desk. "About time you came for lunch. I was gonna starve soon."_

"_House, I lied to you," Wilson said._

_House didn't say anything._

_Wilson broke eye contact, his hand on the back of his neck. "I didn't stop seeing Julie."_

_It was a moment before House spoke. "And now you're leaving me for her."_

"_House..." Wilson said apologetically. His eyes were huge, but they didn't look endearing right now. "...You don't understand. I...I didn't mean to fall in love with her, House, I swear. I was just going to be a friend to her. She was in a bad place—I mean, she's still in a bad place—and I just wanted to be there for her." He hung his head. "I never meant for it to turn into what it did. I never meant to hurt you."_

"_Yeah, well great job with that one!" House retorted sarcastically, glaring at his suddenly-ex-boyfriend. "I'm glad your intentions were so noble, Wilson, that makes this so much less painful for me!"_

"_Well what do you want from me?" Wilson demanded, a couple of tears starting to slide down his cheeks. "I can't help it, House, I'm in love with her!"_

"_I thought you were in love with me!" House yelled. "Or have you just been lying though your teeth for the past three years?"_

"_I was in love with you!" Wilson shouted back, tears flowing freely now. "And I still do love you, but I'm not...I don't know how it happened, House, I don't know how I fell out of love somewhere along the way, but I did! I didn't mean to, it just happened. And if there was no one else maybe it could still work out, but I love her, House. She just came out of an abusive relationship and she...she needs me."_

"_I need you!" House contradicted, not crying but not admitting he was close to it. "You think you can just walk out on me and everything's gonna be okay? Where was I when you walked in, Wilson?"_

"_You don't need me anymore, House," Wilson disagreed, hands on his hips. "When I walked in your leg was so fucked up you could barely move, you couldn't work, you couldn't function on your own, but you're fine now! You're heading your own department, you have Vicodin to manage your pain. House, you will be just fine without me. Julie...when I tried to break things off with her, she fell apart and I realised I couldn't do it. And besides, House, like I said..." he made his face stoic and caught House's eye so the older man would know he meant what he was saying. "...I'm in love with her. I'm not in love with you anymore. I'm sorry," he said shortly, most probably not meaning it, and turned around to leave._

"_Fuck you!" House shouted, and after the door closed behind Wilson he threw his cane at it. The resultant floor-shaking bang was satisfying, but overall it was a bad idea because now the cane was twenty feet away. House grabbed his pager and called his newest underling, Chase, to retrieve it for him._

_._

"_What the fuck do you want?" House demanded, staring at his ex-boyfriend with a foul look on his face._

_Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and looked up. "Julie got a job in New York."_

"_What, now she's leaving you and you're crawling back? Fuck off, Wilson. I don't want to hear anything you have to say."_

"_I'm not _crawling back_," Wilson said, furrowing his brow and putting his hands on his hips. "I'm leaving. I'm going to New York with her. We're getting married."_

"_And you want me to be your best man because an ex-boyfriend is the closest thing you have to a friend?" House said sarcastically, glaring at him. "Didn't you hear me the first time, Wilson? I said _fuck off_!"_

"_I just wanted to tell you in person," Wilson said defensively. "That's all."_

"_So you could gloat?"_

"_No!" Wilson objected. "Because I thought I owed you that much. God, just forget it!"_

"_And what the fuck do I care whether you're here or in New York?" House demanded. "Whether you diddle Julie with a ring on your finger or not? Just fuck off, Wilson. Go rub your ethereal happiness in someone else's face."_

_._

_House put the Vicodin tablet in his mouth and took a sip of scotch to help swallow it. He didn't need to—he'd learned to dry-swallow the chalky pills ages ago—but this way he could get both drugs into his system faster. As he put the prescription bottle down House frowned, noticing there were only three Vicodin left in it. Hadn't it been full this morning? Or maybe that was yesterday morning—days tended to run together when one didn't get any real sleep. He took another sip of scotch, not even feeling it burn his throat anymore. There was more Vicodin in the desk drawer, he knew—well there was more all over the apartment, but the desk drawer was the closest stash he had—but with the narcotics and the alcohol would he be able to even make it all the way to the desk drawer? Well maybe he wouldn't need to just yet, maybe the three in the bottle could last him until morning. Or was it morning already? It was still dark out, but maybe the sun just hadn't risen yet. Or maybe it was overcast. Or maybe it was still the middle of the night. House took another sip of scotch. What day was it, anyway? Did he have work tomorrow? Or, if it was morning, today? Maybe he should go find his cell phone, check the date and time. He could grab another bottle of Vicodin while he was at it._

_House took another pill with another sip so his leg hopefully wouldn't protest when he got up from the couch._

_The room spun and he fell over, banging his leg on the coffee table, and shouted out at the pain. For a second he thought he would pass out, it hurt so much! He fumbled blindly for the Vicodin bottle, dumping the two remaining pills in his mouth, and downed the rest of the glass of scotch in one go to help them down..._

_...wait..._

_...maybe he would pass out after all..._

_._

_A heart monitor beeped. That was funny. Heart monitors meant he was at work, and he was way too fucked up to go to work. How had he gotten here?_

_House opened his eyes._

_Oh._

_He wasn't here as a doctor, he was here as a patient. Still...how had he gotten here?_

_Cuddy was sitting next to his bed, and she glanced up and noticed he was conscious._

"_You're awake," she stated, and then sighed. "Don't try to talk, you've got a tube in your throat."_

_So he did. What the fuck had happened?_

_Before Cuddy answered his unasked question, she checked his pupils and gave him a few tests, including handing him a pen and notepad so he could answer some questions, to confirm that he hadn't suffered brain damage._

'_My name is Gregory House, I'm at PPTH, it's 2003, Bush is unfortunately our president. Now tell me what the hell happened to me,' he wrote, holding the pad up so she could see._

_Cuddy rolled her eyes. "You overdosed," she explained. "You didn't come in to work and wouldn't answer your phone or your pager." She shook her head. "The only reason I went over there myself instead of sending one of your team members was because I was going to lecture you for it. But then you didn't answer your door and lucky for you it was unlocked because when I found you you weren't breathing. There were no breath sounds at all, I actually thought you were dead until I found a barely-there pulse." House was surprised to see a couple of tears slide down her cheeks. "You were on your back and you'd vomited while passed out. I had to give you an emergency tracheotomy just to get you breathing again." She sniffed. "If I'd come much later, I'm not sure you'd have made it."_

_._

"_You're what_‽_" House demanded, glaring up at Cuddy._

_She folded her arms across her chest. "You heard me."_

"_And what about this gaping hole in my thigh that hurts every time my heart beats?"_

"_I'll write you a prescription for extra-strength ibuprofen," she suggested._

"'_Ibuprofen'?" House repeated, staring at her. "This is missing thigh muscle, Cuddy, not a menstrual cramp!"_

"_You've been taking way too much Vicodin, House," Cuddy insisted. "Not only is it gonna fry your liver, you've built up a tolerance to the opiates and they give you the illusion that the pain is worse than it really is. You're going to rehab—I'm not writing you any more prescriptions for Vicodin and I'm making it a condition of your employment. You're not returning to work until you're sober."_

_._

"_I hate you," House said, glaring at her._

_She gave him a weak smile anyway. "You look better, House. You really do."_

"_They put me through hell in there!" he shouted._

"_But it's over now," she pointed out, getting up from her desk and walking over to him. "You're clean, you're sober. House, just don't go back on drugs and you'll never have to experience withdrawal again, I promise."_

"_It is not over now!" he contradicted. "My leg is killing me, Cuddy! It has been from day one! The ibuprofen doesn't do shit!"_

"_Just give it time," she said. "Once you get back in the swing of things, get back to work instead of doing nothing all day it won't be so bad. And the ibuprofen's got to be doing something, House, or you wouldn't be walking around."_

_House shook his head, not looking at her. "You shouldn't have come to check on me," he said._

_Cuddy furrowed her brow. "House, what do you mean?"_

"_You shouldn't have trached me," he continued. "You shouldn't have interfered."_

"_House," she warned, stepping closer._

"_You should have just let me die!" he yelled, glaring at her._

"_Don't say that!" she yelled back, tears streaming down her face. "House, I..." she curled her fists like she wanted to hit something, threw her hands in the air and groaned in frustration._

"_Why not?" he shouted. "What the hell's the point? I'm in pain every fucking day, all I have to live for is my job, I don't have anyone–"_

"–_You have _me_!" Cuddy cut him off, stepping into his space._

_House scoffed. "Yeah, a sparring partner. Great, my life is now complete," he said sarcastically._

"_I can be more than that," Cuddy insisted, taking another step closer to him, her eyes still shiny with tears. "House, I love you."_


	9. Chapter 9

_House sent Foreman and Cameron to test his patient but called Chase into his office._

"_What's up?" Chase asked, hands in the pockets of his lab coat._

"_I need a prescription for Vicodin," House said without catching his eye._

"_What?" Chase asked disbelievingly, staring at him. "What the hell for?"_

"_My leg is hurting again," he muttered. "The ketamine didn't work."_

"_So take ibuprofen," the other man suggested. "Don't go back to Vicodin now."_

"_I _have_ been taking ibuprofen," House said. "It's not enough. It's worse than it was before. I need something stronger."_

"_So why are you asking me?" Chase asked. "Cuddy wrote your Vicodin prescriptions before."_

"_She said no. She doesn't want to believe my leg is worse, but it is." He stared his employee down. "I'm not addicted to the stuff anymore, I'm not asking because I'm addicted. I'm asking because I have a medical condition and I need it."_

_Chase raised his eyebrows. "What if I say no? Are you gonna...fire me if I refuse?"_

"_That would be illegal," House said._

_Chase reached a hand into his pocket, then hesitated. "If Cuddy finds out, I'm fired anyway."_

"_But you're not gonna tell her," House clarified. "You're not writing this prescription as my employee, you're writing it as my doctor. Which makes it privileged information. So if you're not gonna tell her and I'm not gonna tell her, she's not gonna find out. Write the scrip, Chase."_

"_House, you're living together," Chase pointed out. "Odds are she's gonna find out at some point."_

"_I'll take my chances," House said. He held out his hand. "Scrip. Gimme."_

_Chase sighed and scribbled a prescription down. "Make it last," he warned. "I'm not writing you a new one for another week."_

"_That's less than five pills a day!" House protested, grabbing the slip from his employee's hand. "This isn't a scraped knee, Chase."_

"_Like I said, make it last," Chase said. "Don't take your whole day's dose at once. You've been off narcotics for a long time, you'll overdose again if you don't space them out."_

_House glared at him but didn't object. He slunk past him and went down to the pharmacy._

_._

"_There you are," Cuddy smiled at House as he came through the door and into their living room._

"_I cured my patient," he announced._

"_Good," Cuddy said, walking over to him with a flirty smile. "Because for the next twenty minutes I do not want you distracted." And she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, pressing their bodies together and curling her leg around his good one. He dropped his backpack on the floor and kissed back, wishing this would happen every day when he got home from work, and the two quickly made their way to the bedroom where they shed their clothes and made love._

"_I'm gonna take a quick shower," Cuddy said, pulling her bra and panties back on for the walk from the bedroom to the bathroom. "If you want you can call for some food as long as you get me something with vegetables in it."_

"_You're actually giving me permission to get take-out?" he asked, staring at her disbelievingly._

_She shrugged. "I don't really feel like cooking."_

"_Awesome," House said, and she smiled at him before heading to the bathroom. Halfway there, though, she paused, bent down and picked something up off the floor._

"_Greg, what's this?" she asked, turning to him and frowning._

_House's heart dropped into his stomach. Idiot! He'd left his Vicodin in his pants pocket and hadn't had time to move it because Cuddy had accosted him the second he got home._

"_Greg," Cuddy repeated, sitting back down on the bed and looking at House seriously. "How long have you been back on Vicodin?"_

_He looked away. "A few months now," he muttered._

"_What?" Cuddy said. "'Months'? You've been hiding this from me?"_

"_See, I knew you'd get mad," he pointed out. "I told you the pain was getting worse, you didn't want to listen to me. You thought I went back to using the cane because of how sexy it makes me look."_

"_What about all the extra-strength ibuprofen scrips I keep writing you?" she asked, furrowing her brow._

"_Oh yeah, those. There's this guy in the CVS parking lot that pays me a pretty good price for–"_

"–_House!"_

_House rolled his eyes. "Relax, I was kidding. But I need it, Lisa," he said, turning serious. "And I don't take as much as I used to—just one bottle a week. You know before I could go through a bottle in a weekend, but I'm being careful this time." He looked down at his knees. "I don't want to OD again."_

"_I can't believe you kept this from me!" she said, looking at him in shock. "After what we went through to get you sober, after–"_

"–_What _'we'_ went through?" House repeated, staring at her angrily. "I was the one who had to suffer through withdrawal, not you."_

"I _had to watch you overdose, almost kill yourself, and cut into your trachea with a pocket knife!" Cuddy retorted. "You think that was a walk in the park for me? Greg, I was in love with you, don't you have any idea how scared I was that you weren't gonna make it? I don't want to have to go through that again."_

"_Well you won't," House insisted. "You're here to babysit me and make sure it doesn't happen again. Besides, like I said, I'm taking less than I used to. It'll be fine."_

_Cuddy shook her head. "House, no," she objected. "I don't want to take that risk. I want you to go back to rehab and get off the Vicodin."_

"_No," House insisted. "I need it. And if you fire me I'll fight it because I don't take enough to get high and I do my job just as well on the drugs as off them."_

"_I'm not going to fire you," Cuddy said. "I'm asking as your girlfriend, please, do this for me."_

"_Lisa, I tried handling it without Vicodin–"_

"–_and you did fine!" she interrupted. "You were doing well, Greg. _We _were doing well."_

"_It was _not_ fine," House argued. "It didn't do enough for the pain—the only reason I got through it at all was because I had you to distract me."_

"_But you still have me," Cuddy pointed out. "It can be like before."_

_House shook his head. "It's not enough. After the ketamine my leg was even worse than before. The ibuprofen barely did anything last time, it's not doing anything now. Lisa, I need it."_

"_Greg, I don't want you on narcotics!"_

"_Well that's how I come!" he shouted back at her. "You want me, you get me and my Vicodin. I need it. If you're gonna break up with me over it then do it already!"_

"_I wasn't gonna break up with you!" she said, glaring at him._

"_Then this discussion is over," he said, turning away from her. "Go take your shower. I'll order some pizza."_

_._

_Cuddy was sitting on the sofa with a faraway look in her eyes. House knew she wanted to talk to him, and he knew what she wanted to talk to him about, but he wasn't gonna ask her about it. She would bring it up if she wanted to bring it up. Or, if he was lucky, she would forget about it. Not likely._

"_Greg..." she said slowly, still staring into space._

"_Yeah?"_

_Sighing, she turned to him. "I really wish you would reconsider going off the Vicodin."_

_House was surprised. "The Vicodin fight again? Yeah, it's been awhile since we've had it, but I thought you were gonna ask me how I felt about adopting a baby."_

_She stared at him. "How did you...?"_

_House rolled his eyes. "I saw the way you were staring at the little pooping bundle that killed my patient. You're forty-two—if you're gonna be a mommy, you need to do it soon or you won't have long to know your grandchildren. My question is, why start a baby conversation with a Vicodin argument?"_

_Cuddy sighed. "I have been thinking about a baby for awhile, but Greg..." she looked at him. "I don't think I want to raise a child in a household where my boyfriend is addicted to Vicodin."_

"_It's not like I'm shooting up heroin, Lise," he said, glaring at her. "If you need me to watch it every once-in-a-while or drive it to soccer practice, you don't have to worry about me being too stoned to care for it. If you want to have a baby, it's your life."_

"_But you would be a big part of its life," Cuddy pointed out. "Even if you don't become a legal guardian with me, you'll be a father figure to it just by being my boyfriend, by living here. But I don't want to set the example that we just solve all our problems by taking drugs."_

"_Lisa, we're doctors!" House said, rolling his eyes. "How many drugs do we prescribe people every day? And like I said, it's not like it's heroin. I have a medical condition and I take medicine for it, just like the majority of the human population. How is that setting a bad example for your kid?"_

"_Because _unlike_ the majority of the human population that takes medicine on a controlled schedule, you just randomly pop Vicodin whenever you feel like it. You...you're practically abusing the drug, Greg. _That's_ the example I don't want to set."_

"_And if I get off Vicodin you think I'm only gonna take ibuprofen when I wake up in the morning? What difference does it make, Lisa? It's not like I'm gonna announce to the kid what I'm taking and what it does. It'll be years before it's even old enough to know the difference between Vicodin and ibuprofen—and it's not like it'll be any of the kid's business what medicine I take."_

"_You know what, just forget it, Greg," Cuddy scoffed, turning away. "Forget I even brought it up. You know, I saved your life, but you won't even _consider_ doing something that would help bring more meaning to mine."_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** It has come to my attention that there has been some confusion about what happened between Wilson and House. I'm sorry for not making it clear enough. When Wilson left to go to New York with Julie in Chapter 8, he and House got into a fight. They hadn't spoken since then and they both had bitter feelings about the breakup. Wilson didn't want any hard feelings but House was really upset and wouldn't forgive him, so Wilson got all proud. And now all of a sudden after eight years House calls him at like six in the morning. Wilson was still mad about how they left and had no desire to talk to him. Again, sorry for the confusion.

It took House a minute to remember he was—eleven years was a lot of memory to go through. He fingered the scar on his throat, the scar that prompted the flood of memories. Cuddy had given it to him, it was from the tracheotomy that had saved his life, prevented him from aspirating on his vomit after he'd ODed...which had probably happened in the first place because Wilson had left.

Wilson had left.

Wilson had cheated on with him with Julie and then left him for her.

Because he'd fallen out of love with him.

Because, House realised, staring at his slightly-off reflection in Cuddy's bathroom mirror, he had never actually been in love with House to begin with.

Wilson had entered House's life romantically at the time when he'd been at his most vulnerable, his most needy. He'd just been dumped by his girlfriend on top of just having part of his leg removed. He'd been just too attractive for needs-to-be-needed Wilson to pass up. It was never House he was in love with, it was House's neediness. He took him in, helped him back to his feet, literally and metaphorically, and then got bored once he was walking on his own. And then enter Julie, little damsel in distress with bruises from her boyfriend and self-esteem in the toilet and Wilson just couldn't resist.

House should have known better. He knew about Wilson's complex, he should have foreseen that starting the relationship at that point in time would just make him another ex-Mrs. Wilson, no different from any of the others. He wondered if Wilson and Julie were still together in this reality. He doubted it. Maybe he was dating Sam or maybe he'd married again.

It didn't matter. He and House weren't even on speaking terms, let alone anywhere close to having a relationship. Yes, at least Wilson wasn't _dead_ in this reality—anything was better than that—but for all intents and purposes he was dead to House.

He needed to change it again. He wasn't sure if he and Cuddy fought quite as often in this alternate universe as they had in the first one, but it seemed like they argued about his Vicodin use a lot, and since she never did end up adopting she probably resented him for it.

And Wilson wasn't in his life. That needed to change.

.

After a boring, quiet Sunday and lovemaking that felt scripted, House went to the hospital and calibrated the MRI machine to his time-traveling specifications. He wondered for the millionth time if this was even real. All he knew was that whether it was just a figment of his imagination or not, it worked. When he set the MRI machine this way and focused on a specific point in his past while inside it, he went back there and could change things.

And now he needed to change when he and Wilson started their relationship. Choosing the time right after his infarction had been a bad idea, and if he hadn't been so focused on thinking of a time that would hopefully save his best friend's life he might have realised that. House needed to pick a time when he wasn't needy, when, if Wilson fell in love with him, it would be for _him_.

Except he wasn't quite sure when that was. In the earlier stages of their friendship they hadn't really been close enough to try and move things further, and then Stacy had entered the picture.

House decided to just throw caution to the wind and go back to the first time he and Wilson had met. And with this he made another decision—if this didn't work out either, he would change everything back to the way it was in the life he knew. Yes, he was with Cuddy and not Wilson in that life, but he and Cuddy were doing well for now, and Wilson was his best friend. One more try and that would be it. And he had to admit, he had always wondered what would have happened if he and Wilson had slept together that night...

**October 26, 1991**

House tripped and almost fell, and Wilson rushed over and put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Whoa, you okay?"

Right, going suddenly from lying flat on his back to the middle of walking was not a smart idea. Or maybe he'd just tripped because he was a bit drunk.

"Yeah," House said, straightening up. "Fine." He smiled to himself. His leg didn't hurt. At all. It was healthy and whole and he could even run if he wanted to.

"All right, well...come on," Wilson said, holding open the door to the hotel lobby.

House followed him into the hotel, but when the younger man headed for the elevators House steered him toward the stairwell.

"The stairs?" Wilson asked, looking at House blankly. "We can barely walk."

"But we _can_ walk," House pointed out. "Race you to the top—loser buys lunch tomorrow." And with a small smile he started running up the stairs.

"House...wait," Wilson objected, hurrying behind him and not nearly as fast.

"Come on, you're not even trying," House called over the railing, staring a floor down at his new friend.

Wilson leaned, panting, against the heavy door.

"Giving up already?" House called down to him.

"My room's on the third floor," Wilson called up.

"Yeah, but _mine's_ on the fifth."

Wilson gave a slightly blank stare. "Your..."

"Get your ass up here, Wilson!"

House waited impatiently while Wilson trudged up the last two flights of stairs.

"About time," he commented, and Wilson followed him onto the floor and toward his room.

"Uh..." the younger man said awkwardly as House fiddled around for his room key, "...may I ask...why we're both going to your room?"

House gave him what was, for House, a rather flirty smile. "As much as I love a challenge, I think trying to sleep with you from a different room might just be a bit too difficult. Unless you wanna do it over the phone."

Wilson blushed scarlet and looked back and forth to make sure the hallway was abandoned. "Wait..." he mumbled. "...I...I think...you must have the wrong idea. I...I'm not..."

House chuckled softly. "Wilson, we're two half-drunk guys who just met at a medical conference in an unfamiliar city. The way I see it, us going into this room can have one of three results. The first, we have some awkward sex that's not very good, we each go home after the conference ends tomorrow and never see each other again, no one ever needs to know you slept with a guy, and you'll have had a new life experience. Result two: the sex is fantastic, we have it again tomorrow morning, I call you after the conference is over, we fall deeply in love and have this fantastic sex all the time. Or maybe it will be somewhere between the two. My point is, if the worst that can happen is the first option and the best that can happen is the second, then what have you really got to lose?"

Wilson hesitated. "I...I've never...with another guy...I mean," he stammered. "I'm not gay, House. I...I was married. I...I've never done a guy before!"

"Yeah, and if it sucks, then you'll never have to again," House pointed out. "But _since_ you've never slept with a guy before you have no way of knowing whether it's going to suck. And knowing is always better than not knowing," he added with a smirk.

"I..." Wilson mumbled, still blushing. He looked around and then lowered his voice to a barely-audible whisper. "...You have condoms, right? I don't wanna get AIDS."

House smirked. "Me neither. And don't worry. I always...come prepared." He chuckled when Wilson got even redder, opened the hotel room door, and ushered the younger man in.

"Um...okay," Wilson muttered, glancing around the room. He looked slightly terrified.

"Wilson, you need to relax," House said, rolling his eyes. He stepped behind the younger doctor and squeezed his shoulders. "Quit thinking so much," he directed. He lowered his voice slightly and brought his face closer to the back of Wilson's head, not quite whispering in his ear but close. "Forget about your brain for a little while and just concentrate on your body."

He could feel some of the tension leave Wilson's body with his instructions—the alcohol in his system probably contributed to that—and turned the other man around so they were facing each other. Wilson still looked a little nervous but much less jittery than before. Keeping a hand on his arm, House leaned forward slowly and kissed him.

Wilson didn't kiss back right away, but he didn't back away either. He let House kiss him, and after a few seconds he relaxed a bit and began to kiss back.

House took it slow for Wilson's sake. They weren't friends yet, the trust wasn't there, everything about the situation was new for Wilson. They spent a long time kissing, and House made sure Wilson was ready each time they moved to something new.

From House's end it wasn't nearly as good as the post-infarction sex or the post-organ sex, mostly because Wilson was too nervous and uncomfortable to do much, but he didn't really mind. He was making it good for Wilson—he could tell—and that was most important at the moment anyway.

He sat in bed next to Wilson when they finished, thinking holding him might be awkward considering how long they'd known each other. He smiled at the look of surprised appreciation on the young doctor's face.

Wilson chuckled. "Uh...wow," he admitted. "That was...uh..."

"Fucking awesome?" House suggested, smirking.

Wilson turned to him. "Actually, I was gonna say...surprisingly intimate for, you know, sex with someone I just met. But..." he blushed. "...what you said works, too." He shook his head. "I...I never expected that...with a guy...I could actually...does this make me gay?" he asked suddenly, turning to House with a look of slight panic.

"Well, that depends," the other man said. "Do you think I'm hot?"

Wilson blushed and looked at his knees. "Uh...yeah..."

House smirked. "Would you do me again?"

Still blushing furiously and avoiding his eye, Wilson nodded.

House grabbed the hotel TV remote from the nightstand and turned it on, flipping through channels until he found something with a pretty girl in it. "Do you think she's hot?" he asked.

Wilson glanced at the TV. "Yeah, definitely."

"Would you do her?"

"Uh...if I had the chance, yeah, sure."

House turned the TV off. "Congratulations, James," he said in mock-joy. "You're bisexual."

"That's..." Wilson said, shaking his head. "That's so weird."

"Life is weird," House said. "So," he continued, settling down in the bed, "am I correct in my assumption that the sex was awesome enough to result in more than a one night stand?"

Also settling down, Wilson turned to him with a small smile. "Well, I guess since you beat me up the stairs...I do owe you lunch tomorrow."

House nodded. "And by 'lunch,' you mean ditching the conference for bathroom sex. I hear you." He smirked at the scandalised expression on Wilson's face and, just because he wanted to, he kissed him. Wilson didn't object. "Now I'm going to sleep," House said. "If you can think of a creative way to wake me up in the morning, maybe I'll actually cover lunch." And he kissed Wilson again, because he wanted to and because Wilson wasn't complaining, and went to sleep.

—

House was awake, but he didn't open his eyes just yet. Would it be Wilson beside him this time? It should be. He'd tried getting together with Wilson at every other stage of their relationship and none of them had worked, so this one had to. House slowly opened his eyes, turning his head to the side.

Cuddy.

What the fuck‽ House wanted to explode with frustration. Cuddy! It was always Cuddy! Why was it always Cuddy? Why couldn't it for once just be Wilson‽ What did House have to do to make it Wilson and not Cuddy?

As he lay in his girlfriend's bed contemplating this, he remembered the words she'd whispered to him after making love almost a week ago, back in his own reality. _"It's like we've been through so much and now we're finally here...I know you don't believe in this, and a lot of the time I don't either, but I feel like we were destined to be together."_

But that wasn't real! There was no such thing as god and there was no such thing as fate or destiny! This was the exact same thought process he'd had when he was thinking on it that night after she'd said it. And back then, part of his reasoning had been that _stuff happened based on the decisions people made_._ If they'd made different decisions things would have turned out differently._

He still believed that, of course—every different reality came with its own scenario and a very different life, but the common factor in all of them was that he ended up in a relationship with Cuddy. And if _every_ life decision had him ending up in a relationship with Cuddy, then...wasn't that basically the same thing as fate? There wasn't any god determining this in advance; it just happened this way. But if it happened this way in _every_ alternate universe, it might as well be destiny. What was the difference?

Well, before, he'd believed that a relationship with Wilson might be a possibility in the future. Maybe not a likely possibility, but a possibility all the same. He was in love with Wilson and he liked having the hope that...someday...something between them might happen.

And now he felt like...well, he didn't believe in this, but he had a hard time pushing the words away when they crossed his mind.

It wasn't meant to be.

He and Wilson weren't meant to be together.

No! He argued in his head. There was no 'meant' about it. It wasn't any god's or anyone's intention for he and Wilson not to be together.

They just never would be together.

And there was nothing House could do to change it.

He'd tried.

And now he had to figure out how to just...change it back. Forget all these alternate universes, forget trying to get together with Wilson. He was fine with the life he _had_. Being best friends with Wilson was enough, and at least his and Cuddy's relationship was still un-miserable. True, he didn't believe it would last (although the two of them had made it for a long time in some of these other realities, maybe they were stronger than he thought), but it was fine for now.

House had started to sit up in bed, feeling better about having made his decision, when he realised something was very very wrong. His leg felt...weird...off. His usual pain was completely gone but there was a weird...tingling...

He knew what he was going to see a second before he threw the blankets off but that didn't make the confirmation any less of a shock.

His right leg was gone. It had been completely amputated.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Sorry it's late! I was going to post this before I went to work but then I totally forgot. Again, sorry!

"_These the last ones?" House asked, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow as he put the heavy box down on the floor._

"_Yup," Wilson said, stacking the box he was holding on top of the one House just set down. He smiled at him a bit shyly. "I still can't believe I'm doing this. I mean, just a month ago I was still married to Samantha, I hadn't even met you. This has just all happened so fast...it's not like me to be this impulsive..."_

"_You got married, didn't you?" House pointed out, and Wilson shrugged and smiled._

"_That was a little different, I'd actually known her longer than three weeks–"_

"–_And look where it ended up," House interrupted. "We've been through this. You have two choices in life. One: try and find your own apartment with nowhere to live in the interim and then struggle to pay the rent while looking for a job. Two: pay only a half a month's rent and have a ton of fantastic sex while looking for a job. What I don't understand is why we're standing here discussing your second thoughts while we could be having the aforementioned fantastic sex."_

"_I never said I was having second thoughts," Wilson said, smiling. "I just said it's impulsive for me. But it's also...really exciting." He blushed slightly. "I really like you, Greg."_

"_Yeah, ditto," House said, walking over and putting his arms around Wilson. "Now less talking, more making out."_

_Wilson smiled and complied._

_._

_Wilson approached the sofa where House was sitting from behind and kissed the top of his head. "How goes the job search?"_

"_It'll happen when it happens, and why are you trying to make out with my hair instead of my mouth?"_

_Wilson rolled his eyes and sat down next to House. "I heard Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital just got a new Dean of Medicine. A Michigan graduate."_

"_Well that put my chances for there to zero," House said with an eye-roll. "Everyone who knew me in med school hated me. What's his name?"_

"_Her," Wilson corrected, then frowned. "Something Cuddy. Lily? Lizzy?"_

"_Lisa?" House interrupted, staring at Wilson with wide eyes._

"_That was it," Wilson nodded. "Why, you know her?"_

"_Yeah, in the biblical sense," he said, causing Wilson to cough his surprise. "We had a one night stand back when she was an undergrad."_

"_Oh, you didn't whisk her away to live in your apartment after seducing her?" Wilson asked, smirking._

"_Hey, _she _seduced _me_," House replied. "She stalked me for like three weeks and then cornered me at a school dance. But hey, she was hot, who was I to say no?"_

"_Well, if you were half as good back in med school as you are now, you shouldn't have a problem getting a job there," Wilson said with a flirty smile. "Just as long as you don't let her seduce you again," he warned._

"_Why James," House said, smirking, "is someone jealous?"_

"_No," Wilson contradicted. "I'm just dictating the terms under which you can negotiate a contract for a new job."_

"_Riiight," House said, rolling his eyes and smiling at him. "Well if I do manage to get an interview you'd better make sure and give me morning sex that day so I won't be tempted."_

"_Greg, if you can get an interview _anywhere_ I'll give you all the morning sex you can handle."_

"_Hey, I resent that," House said. "I haven't been unemployed for _that_ long."_

_._

_Wilson put a hand to his forehead, watching the golf ball soar through the air. "Yeah, that should make it to the green," he said._

_House scoffed. "Yeah, right. You're way off."_

"_No, I think it's gonna make it," Wilson insisted._

"_A week's worth of blow jobs says you're wrong."_

"_I'm taking that bet," Wilson agreed._

"_Yeah," House smirked. "Just because for you it'd be a win either wa–AHH!" He stopped talking and screamed, dropping his golf club and clutching his right leg._

"_Greg?" Wilson panicked, rushing over to him. "Greg, what's wrong?"_

"_Leg," House gasped, squeezing his leg. "Hurts. Oh, god..."_

"_Did you pull something?" Wilson asked. "Here, let me take a look at it."_

_House shook his head violently. "Hurts...too much. James, call an ambulance. Oh...oh my god it fucking hurts!" He collapsed to the ground, not unconscious but unable to support his weight._

"_Greg!" Wilson exclaimed. "Hey!" House heard him call, but didn't see who he was calling to as he'd closed his eyes. "We need an ambulance!" A hand wiped the sweat off House's forehead as he lay shuddering in the grass. "Shh," Wilson soothed. Another hand gripped House's and he squeezed it, probably hard enough to bruise but Wilson bore it. "They're calling for an ambulance. You'll be okay. Just stay with me, Greg. Baby, stay with me."_

_._

"_We have to do the surgery," Cuddy explained, looking grim, while House lay in a hospital bed with Wilson sitting at his side. "The necrotic tissue has to be removed. If there's too much–"_

"–_I don't care what you find," House interrupted._

"_It may become necessary in order to save your life," Cuddy insisted._

"_I _like_ my leg," House objected. "I've had it for as long as I can remember."_

"_Greg, I know it's your leg–" Wilson tried to say, but House interjected again._

"–_They're not cutting it off." _

_As final as he intended it to sound, neither of the others would let it go._

"_Amazing advances have been made," Cuddy pointed out. "Kids with prosthetic legs are running the 100-metre dash in twelve seconds."_

"_Yeah," House conceded. "They're just...not as pretty." Wilson gave him a look, which he ignored. "Do a bypass," House suggested. "Restore the circulation."_

"_Amputation is a safer."_

"_For you or me?"_

"_The blockage of blood flow–"_

"–_Four-day blockage."_

"_Yes," Cuddy sighed. "It caused muscle cell death. When those cells die they release cytokines and potassium–"_

"–_If you restore the blood flow instead of just lopping it all off then that crap gets washed back into my system, the cytokines can cause organ failure, the potassium could cause cardiac arrest. On the other hand, I may just get the use of my leg back," he argued._

"_The post-operative pain alone–"_

"–_I'll get through it. I understand the risks, you're in the clear. Go schedule an O.R."_

_Cuddy hesitated and then left._

_Wilson rounded on House. "God, you're an idiot!"_

"_Think I'm more of a jerk," House disagreed._

"_Greg, I don't want you to kill yourself!"_

"_I'm not gonna die," House insisted._

"_Oh, thanks for informing me," Wilson said sarcastically. "And while you're seeing into the future do you mind telling me next week's lottery numbers?_

"_James," House warned._

_Wilson sighed._

_._

_House lay in the hospital bed, trembling, struggling to breathe._

_Wilson held his hand. "How bad?"_

_House looked away. "It's bad," he whispered._

"_It's not getting any better," Wilson pointed out. "If you were right, the pain would be subsiding, you'd be improving."_

"_It's just taking longer," House insisted._

"_No it's not," Wilson maintained. "Greg, we've gotta let them amputate."_

_House looked at him, trying to get him to understand. "It's my leg. It's my life."_

"_Would you give up your leg to save my life?" Wilson asked._

"_Of course I would," House said, looking at him as though he were crazy for even having to ask._

"_Then why is your life worth less?" the other man demanded. "If this were one of your patients what would you tell them to do?"_

"_I would say it's their choice," House answered._

"_What?" Wilson said, rolling his eyes. "Bullshit—you'd withhold information, lie to them and terrorise them until they made the choice you knew was right. You'd shout at them that it's just a leg."_

"_It's _my_ leg," House argued._

"_It's your _life_," Wilson insisted. "It's our life. Don't you want to live? Don't you want to be happy?"_

"_James, I...I can't."_

"_Greg, just the pain is killing you."_

"_I know," House admitted, looking away. "But there's...another way..." He looked up. "Get Cuddy. They can put me in a coma so I don't have to go through the pain."_

"_Greg, that's–"_

"_James, please," House said. "Look at me. I need this."_

_Wilson sighed and left the room._

_._

_House opened his eyes. Wilson was sitting by his bedside. It looked like he'd been crying again. "Hey," House whispered._

_Wilson gave a weak smile. "Hey." He leaned over and gave House a light kiss on the lips. "How do you feel?"_

"_Better," House admitted. He gave a small smile. "It worked."_

_Wilson shook his head. "No," he admitted, a few tears starting to slide down his cheeks. "No, Greg, it didn't. While you were out..." He closed his eyes and looked down at his lap._

_House moved to hand to feel his leg. There was no leg there, just the hospital blanket. He stared at Wilson. "How could you...?"_

"_Greg, I'm so sorry," Wilson whispered through his tears. "You could have died, I had to–"_

"–_No," House objected, staring at him. "No, I specifically asked–"_

"–_I couldn't just let you die," Wilson said, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Greg." He reached to take the older man's hand, but House pulled away. He turned away from Wilson._

_._

"_I hate this damn thing!" House shouted, throwing his prosthetic leg across the room._

"_Greg, you're going to damage it!" Wilson objected, hurrying over to pick it up and examine it._

"_What difference does it make? The thing's fucking useless."_

"_You've just got to give it time," Wilson pleaded. "Do your physical therapy, learn how to use it properly and you'll be fine."_

"'_Fine'?" House repeated, glaring at him. "I will not be fine. In case you haven't noticed, James, I only have one fucking leg! In what universe is that fine?"_

"_At least you're alive!" Wilson argued. "What would you rather be—an amputee or a corpse?"_

"_You know, sometimes I'm not even sure," House retorted._

"_You don't mean that!"_

"_I don't even know anymore, James!" he shouted. "You...first you take my leg from me, then you lecture me for not trying hard enough in my physical therapy and not doing the exercises when I can barely move, and then you tell me everything's going to be fucking fine! What the fuck do you know, James? _You _still have two working legs!"_

"_I didn't have a choice! Greg, you could have died! Yes, I'd still have two working legs but I'd have lost the love of my life and had to live with the guilt that I let him die rather than doing everything I could to save him! I may not be in your position, Greg, but you don't know what it's like to be in mine! What if I had had the infarction, Greg? Would you have hesitated to cut off my leg to save my life?"_

_House didn't catch his eye. "You didn't need to take the whole thing," he muttered. "You could have just removed the dead muscle. At least then I'd still have two legs."_

"_Greg, it was _four_ days before they figured out what was wrong. Do you know how much muscle they would have needed to remove?"_

"_Less than my _whole fucking leg_," House pointed out with a glare._

"_That surgery could have left you in chronic pain!"_

"_But at least I'd have two legs!" House argued. "And we don't know that I would have been left in chronic pain, and even if I was they have drugs for that! Have they come out with a drug that makes your leg grow back_‽_"_

_Wilson shook his head. "I can't," he whispered._

"_Can't what?"_

"_Greg, I can't do this anymore!" Wilson shouted, crying again. "Every single day is just a fight with you and I just can't do it anymore! I did what I needed to do and every conversation we have is about how much you resent me for it! I can't live like this anymore, Greg. I love you but I can't be with you if you can't forgive me for doing the right thing!"_

"_Because you're not sorry!" House pointed out. "There you go, you still say it was the right thing, you'd do it all over again!"_

"_Because it_ was_ the right thing and of course I'd do it over again!" Wilson yelled. "And I am sorry—not that I did it, but that I had to do it! I'm sorry that I had to choose between taking your leg and letting you die! But I can't do–" he gestured between the two of them, "–this anymore, Greg."_

"_James, you don't mean that."_

"_No, I do," Wilson insisted. "I've been thinking about it for weeks now and I just can't. You're just gonna keep on hating me for what I did and–"_

"–_I don't _hate_ you–" House interrupted._

"–_A part of you does!" Wilson interrupted back. "And a part of you always will! Greg, both of us are miserable like this and that isn't going to change. Neither of us can be happy until you forgive me, which I know you're not going to do." He sniffed. "I'm leaving."_

"_Don't," House argued, shaking his head. "James, you don't mean that. You're angry, you're emotional right now–"_

"–_Greg, I have been angry and emotional from the time this happened and I'm going to remain angry and emotional until I can escape from this."_

"_So you're just gonna abandon me while I'm in the middle of recovering from the loss of the leg _you_ hacked off_‽_" House demanded angrily._

"_It'll be better for you this way too," Wilson said softly. "You can find somebody you don't resent, who doesn't remind you of the loss of your leg every time you look at them. You can be happy." He looked tearfully over at House. "Greg, you know you can't be happy with me anymore."_

"_It has nothing to do with you," House argued. "I'm not miserable because you're always around, I'm miserable because one of my legs is gone."_

"_You'll get over that," Wilson pointed out, causing House to scoff. "I know now it doesn't feel that way, but you will. You'll learn to use your prosthetic, you'll get used to it. And then you'll find someone else that you can love without having to also hate and you'll be happy." He gave a weak smile. "Greg, I'm doing what's best for both of us. I...you know I'll always love you."_

**Disclaimer:** Some of House and Cuddy's dialogue in this chapter was taken from the season 1 episode "Three Stories." Some of Wilson's dialogue was either taken or paraphrased from Stacy's dialogue in "Three Stories."


	12. Chapter 12

_House leaned against a light-post, panting. He glanced at his stopwatch. Only fifteen minutes? He'd only been running for fifteen minutes and he was already this exhausted?_

_This sucked! He felt like he was going to collapse and it had only been a measly fifteen minutes. Before Wilson had chopped his leg off he'd been able to run for miles and then keep going. How much distance had he run now? Maybe two miles? Maybe less?_

_Still trying to catch his breath, he looked around. The park was across the street, filled with healthy two-legged joggers wearing shorts instead of track pants because they didn't have prosthetic limbs to hide. On this side of the street there was a cafe, a liquor store, a Starbucks, and, fortunately, a bus stop that would take House back to his apartment since he could barely stand. He walked slowly over to the bus stop and checked the schedule. The next bus wasn't for another twelve minutes. He could sit down and wait, or..._

_After a moment's hesitation, House walked into the liquor store._

_._

_House sat at his piano, trying to play but the notes were off. Since when did he fuck up playing the piano? He reached for the bottle of scotch to pour more, but the bottle was empty. When did that happen? When he'd gotten home from work there had still been a decent amount left. Good thing he had an extra bottle stored in the liquor cabinet._

_He tripped and almost fell on the way to the kitchen. Stupid prosthetic leg. He'd been using the thing for four years and he _still_ sometimes had trouble walking straight._

_The liquor cabinet was empty. Right, he'd had the extra one last week. Time to turn to the emergency stash on top of the fridge. At least that one was still there. He'd stock up again tomorrow. _

_._

_Cuddy stared at him. "It's really not the greatest time for gloating." But she moved aside and let him in anyway._

_He didn't even know what he was doing here. Except that she was just as miserable as he was and that was partially his fault. It wasn't necessary to treat her the way he did. He didn't even know why he did it. Maybe he'd hated seeing her happy and thought if she was miserable, too, he'd be less miserable. It wasn't so._

"_There's more than one baby in the sea," he said softly. "The world is full of teenage boys riding bareback."_

"_No," Cuddy objected, shaking her head. "I'm done. I can't go through that again."_

"_You're quitting," he accused. "Just like you quit IVF."_

"_Yeah, just like that," she responded._

"_There, you just did it again." And there, _he _was doing it again. Making her even more miserable than she already was. He looked down. "It's too bad, you would have made a great mother." Would that help? It was probably true, right?_

_She looked at him, then looked away and back to him in shock. "You son of a bitch. When I was _getting_ a baby, you told me I'd suck as a mother," she accused, getting into his face. "And now that I've _lost_ it, you tell me I'd be _great_ as a mother." He stared at her, surprised at the attack. "Why do you need to negate _everything_?" she demanded._

_He looked at her and shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered. Then he leaned forward and she leaned up to meet him and they were kissing, and she was holding his face and he was holding her and they were kissing. And they kept kissing, and she started to pull his jacket off and he let her._

_They went to the bedroom. He stopped when they started taking pants off, self-conscious of his missing limb, but she told him it was okay. She removed the prosthesis and kissed the bit of flesh that remained. She told him she loved him. They made love._

_._

"_Now, please behave yourself," Cuddy whispered, holding his hand as they walked into the restaurant._

"_What's that supposed to mean?" House demanded quietly._

"_No...insulting the waiters, no...telling the woman at the table next to us she has an undiagnosed heart condition–"_

"–_I may have saved that woman's life," House argued indignantly._

_Cuddy rolled her eyes. "And please, don't have too much to drink."_

"_Why not? You're driving home," House pointed out._

"_I know, but...please, House, I'm asking you nicely. I hate it when you get too drunk, let's try and just make this a nice evening."_

"_Fine," House said, rolling his eyes. "I'll do my best."_

"_That's all I can–we have to go," Cuddy said suddenly, grabbing House by the arm and turning him toward the exit._

"_What?" House asked, giving her a bewildered look. "Are you trying to imply I can't behave myself for one evening? I just said I'd try."_

"_No," she insisted, looking determinedly straight forward and walking at a brisk pace toward the exit. "I mean we have to go. We can go to that Italian place instead."_

"_What?" House repeated, looking over their shoulders to try and see what Cuddy was looking away from. "Did you spot an ex-boyfriend or–oh...oh my god," he muttered, stopping in his tracks and staring._

_Cuddy groaned. "Technically...oh no, they saw us..."_

_It wouldn't have made a difference because House was rooted to the spot and the couple would have noticed eventually. He stared blatantly as Dr. James Wilson, hand-in-hand with a very pregnant Dr. Amber Volakis, approached them._

"_House," she smiled. "Dr. Cuddy. What a coincidence, running into you two here. I didn't know you two were together."_

"_Nice to see you, Dr. Volakis," Cuddy forced a smile. She nodded at Wilson. "James. I...didn't know you two were together either."_

"_Actually, it's Dr. Wilson now," Amber corrected, still smiling. "Almost two years now, actually."_

_House, who had ignored Amber completely in favour of staring at Wilson in disbelief, finally spoke. "You married Cutthroat Bitch_‽_"_

_Wilson's hand rubbed the back of his neck as he explained, "I call her Amber."_

"_After you fired me, Dr. House," Amber filled him in, "I got a job at the Lawrenceville Medical Center, where James was working." She paused to smile at her husband. "I should really thank you. Not only would I never have gotten a job there if you hadn't fired me, but you provided us with a mutual acquaintance."_

_House was still ignoring her, still staring at Wilson, who was giving him a sad smile. "It's good to see you, Greg, really. You...you look really good."_

_House looked down. "Finally learned to use the leg," he muttered._

"_That's good," Wilson encouraged. "And you've found someone else too, just like I said you would. See, Greg? Everything turned out okay."_

_._

"_House..." Foreman said, trying to intercept him. Ignoring him, House headed for the elevators to his office. "House, you don't know that she would have made it if you'd cut the leg off. Even in a controlled setting amputation has risks."_

"_But we did know that she wouldn't make it by leaving her trapped there," House muttered. "I made the wrong call."_

_Foreman sighed. "It's not your fault. Someone else should have been her doctor. Because of your own life experiences–"_

"–_I know!" House shouted, rounding on his fellow. "Because someone once hacked off my leg without my consent I couldn't be objective! It prevented me from doing my job the way I was supposed to! How is that supposed to make me feel any better_‽_"_

_Foreman didn't answer. The elevator arrived and House stepped into it. He walked into his office and closed the blinds before sitting down in his chair. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey._

The memories ended and House was dragged back to the present—Cuddy's bed. A glance at the clock told him it was almost six in the morning. Today should be Monday; Cuddy would be getting up any minute, assuming morning workouts were a part of this reality.

...Morning workouts could be a part of this reality for both of them...House was missing his leg, but he had a prosthetic leg that he could...run in. He could run. He didn't have any pain at all. He was at a zero. In his own life, he'd only been at a zero on two occasions since his infarction: the time he'd been given ketamine and the time he'd tried methadone. But in this life he was at a zero pretty much all the time. So he could run.

And suddenly, a morning run felt like an awesome idea. He knew that he didn't run, usually, so he probably wasn't in the best shape, but at least he was semi-able-bodied and in no pain. He got up and got his prosthesis and was in the middle of putting it on when Cuddy woke up.

She smiled at him. "You're up early."

"Gonna go for a run."

Her look of shock did not surprise him. "Really? Well, that's...good for you, Greg! That's great!"

"Yeah, I'll be back in a little while," he said. Once his leg was in place, he got up, changed, and gave Cuddy a quick kiss before grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen and then heading out.

He had to alternate running with brisk walking since it had been a long time since he'd really exercised, but god it felt good! His heart pounding, his sweat drenching him, the burn in the one leg he had.

It was too bad he'd resented Wilson so much for making this decision; it really had been the right one to make. It...really sucked that Wilson had to become this universe's Stacy.

Stacy. Suddenly House missed her, despite the fact that even in his own reality he hadn't seen her in years. She really had done what she thought was best, she'd known how much House had wanted to keep his leg.

In his own reality, House had told Hannah he wished he'd agreed to an amputation. Here, because he'd had his leg taken he didn't want to convince her to do it.

You're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't.

Wilson and Stacy were right that House very well might have died if they'd left his leg alone like he'd asked. When it was just the dead muscle removed he wished they'd gone with an amputation and when they'd chopped off the whole thing he'd wished they'd only taken the dead muscle.

Because he hadn't known better.

But now he did.

House's life was fucked up in this reality—he'd still killed Hannah, he'd lost Wilson just like in all the others, he was an alcoholic and quite probably depressed.

But all that was only because he'd thought that having his leg removed was the worst thing in the world that could happen to him, he hadn't realised, or had been too proud to admit, that it was the right and best decision.

Look at him now—he was running! He felt...not great, but pretty good. And his leg didn't even hurt because it didn't exist. Maybe he got phantom pain sometimes, but that was a hell of a lot better than pain every waking moment. The him in this reality had no right to be miserable—he had no idea how great he had it.

Except that he didn't have Wilson. That thought stopped House in his tracks, and he took a chug from his water bottle while he thought.

Wilson had left just like Stacy had. Wilson sort of still loved him but moved on anyway just like Stacy had. Wilson had gotten married just like Stacy had.

To _Amber_.

Because she hadn't died because she hadn't picked up the phone because House hadn't called Wilson to pick him up from the bar.

_House staggered outside, alone. He looked around. No cabs. But there was a bus stop._

_Blinding white lights._

_Then silence._

_Then an explosion and screaming and crying and blurs of colours._

_Then black._

_._

_There was a stripper. When had he gone to a strip club? What was he doing here? He was bleeding. He should get some help._

_Outside there was a turned-over bus. He must have been on the bus. He was in a bus crash. He should get to the hospital._

_._

_Cameron was giving him stitches. His wounds were superficial but he should still stay the night for observation. Whatever._

Remembering he was in the middle of jogging, House drank more water. He'd still been in the bus crash, but he'd been alone on the bus. Like, in his world, Wilson said he should have been.

Wilson.

Wilson had married Amber. They were having a baby.

They were happy.

Of course they were happy—Amber was the only one of Wilson's wives or girlfriends that it could have worked out with because she was like House and Wilson could love her for her, not for her neediness.

Amber wasn't supposed to die, and in this universe she didn't.

Wilson had been right when he'd left House after the infarction and subsequent amputation. Everything had turned out all right.

Maybe House was an alcoholic, but he didn't have to be now that he knew the amputation had been best. And maybe he and Cuddy could adopt a baby and be happy together. Maybe everything could turn out okay for everybody.

Except...Wilson and House weren't a part of each other's lives.

House had never been sentimental, and moving around a lot as a child had taught him not to get too attached to one place, but all of a sudden he felt homesick. He didn't miss his constant pain and he didn't miss the guilt he felt over killing Amber, but that life was _his_ life.

He started sprinting again, pushing himself because he needed to feel something.

He'd never been so torn. This life was...good. He had no pain at all, he could run, and Wilson was happy. If he changed things back to the way he knew them, he would still be hurting all the time, constantly wishing he could go back to Vicodin, and Amber would still be dead and Sam couldn't replace her. Maybe Wilson told himself he was happy with her but House knew he wasn't as happy as he'd been with Amber.

If he went back he was sacrificing Wilson's happiness.

What about his own? With Cuddy and one working leg and one working prosthesis, could he be happy without Wilson in his life?

Maybe he wouldn't be miserable, but he probably wouldn't be happy.

Was he happy in the life he'd left behind?

For now, yes, because he and Cuddy were still doing all right. If that went up in flames he might be miserable again.

"So what do I do?" House asked himself aloud.

Give up this life where...things turned out less horrible? Or give up Wilson?

Give up Wilson or give up Wilson's happiness?

**Disclaimer: **I have taken some dialogue in this chapter from the season 5 episode, "Joy," and I took another couple of lines from the season 6 episode, "Help Me."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter is so short...the next chapter, which is also the last chapter, will be longer I promise...

House stared through the glass at the MRI machine. If he'd used a cane in this reality he'd be twirling it between his fingers. For a moment he missed it. Not the pain, of course, the best part of this reality was that there was no pain except for an occasional tingling. But the cane...he'd been using a cane for so long it was almost like a part of him.

If he did decide to go back it wouldn't be for the cane. It'd be for Wilson. He'd be killing Amber all over again so he could be just friends with Wilson.

House glared at the machine in frustration. Two impossible choices. Now he knew how Stacy and Wilson had felt when he'd been in his comas after his infarctions. One choice would hurt the man he was in love with, the other would prevent them from ever being together, as friends or anything more.

And what choices had Stacy and Wilson made?

The selfish choice.

Neither of them had foreseen leaving him—they thought they were saving his life so they would get to _be_ with him.

House would get to be with Wilson if he made the selfish choice. Not as anything more than friends, but in all the rest of these realities they'd had no relationship at all and anything with Wilson was better than nothing. Wilson would never know that House had the opportunity to give him a happy life with Amber and didn't; he would probably send him off to Mayfield if he tried to tell him. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him...

House strode down the hall to his office and pulled up the white pages on his computer.

The phone rang a few times before voicemail picked up.

"Hi," Amber's voice greeted. "You've reached James and Amber Wilson. We're not in at the moment, please leave a message with your name and number and we'll get back to you soon."

It beeped.

"James, it's Greg," House muttered, mentally reflecting on how weird it was to call Wilson James and refer to himself as Greg to him. "I..." This was stupid. The Wilson in this reality would either cease to exist or go on living his same life. He would never know what he was missing. But at the same time...

"...I'm sorry," House said into the phone. "I love you and I'm sorry."

He hung up.

.

House set the MRI machine in a way that had once made him thought it would begin scanning his leg after he was inside it and ready. He removed his prothesis and lay down in the machine, heart pounding.

He didn't belong here. This wasn't a bad place, it wasn't a bad life, but it wasn't _House's_ life. And it wasn't Cuddy's or Wilson's either, and Amber didn't have a life anymore. That was the life House knew. And that was the life where he...belonged.

So he needed to go back to the beginning...

**April 6, 1985**

House rolled off Cuddy, smiling at her as he watched her catch her breath.

"Wow, Greg," she whispered. "That was great."

"Yeah," he agreed. "You too."

She smiled back at him. She had such a pretty smile. She settled down next to him, pulling the pillow under her head and watching him as she rested on her stomach. He watched her as well.

They didn't say anything else. She was still smiling at him, and eventually her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing evened out.

He watched her a bit longer. Then he rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. He yawned, turned over, and went to sleep.

—

A whiny cry jolted House awake. The mattress squeaked as Cuddy forced herself out of bed, grabbing a bathrobe and heading for the hallway.

"It's all right, Rachel, Mommy's coming," she called.

House sat up in bed. He didn't even need to check and make sure he had two legs because he could feel his thigh protesting at him. He grabbed the bottle of medicine from the nightstand and smiled in relief. Ibuprofen. He took two and grabbed his cane, using it to help heave himself out of bed.

He met Cuddy in brunette two-year-old Rachel's bedroom, where she was changing her diaper, and smiled again. "Morning," he said, kissing Cuddy on the cheek.

"Morning," Cuddy replied, grabbing a fresh diaper from under the changing table. She smiled at her daughter. "Rachel, can you say 'good morning, House'?"

The toddler just stared up at them.

"That's okay," House said. "Maybe if I make her breakfast she'll warm up to me some more."

Cuddy turned and stared at him. "You rise sometime before noon _and_ you offer to make breakfast? Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

House rolled his eyes. "If you don't want to take advantage of my good mood, nobody's forcing you."

She smiled. "Well maybe I had a different way of taking advantage of your good mood in mind," she commented.

House smirked. "Well, in that case, Rachel can wait another twenty minutes for breakfast."

.

House smiled at the heavy wooden door with the words, 'James Wilson, M.D.' emblazoned on it and went in without knocking as usual.

Wilson gave a quick glance just to make sure it was who he thought it was and then ignored him.

House was still smiling. Everything was back to normal. There was just...one more thing he needed to do...


	14. Chapter 14

"Ready?" Chase called over the microphone.

"Ready," House called back, and Chase pressed a button, causing him to slide into the machine.

He needed to do this. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it still might be something. And if it was...maybe he would tell them to take the leg this time.

House lay in the machine, listening to the banging noises. He closed his eyes...

_...He was lying in a bed when he opened them. There was someone next to him. A man. Who looked...sort of like...well, sort of like Wilson's father, the few times he'd met him. He opened his eyes. Warm brown eyes. Wilson's father's eyes were green._

_It was Wilson. He looked like he was in his late sixties or early seventies, but it was Wilson._

_House stared at Wilson._

_Wilson smiled at him. "Good morning," he whispered, reaching a hand over to stroke House's hair._

"_Morning," House heard himself whispering back. This wasn't him changing anything because this hadn't happened. It was either a dream or...it felt like another memory. A memory of something that hadn't happened...yet?_

_Wilson leaned over to kiss him, and House kissed back. He slid his fingers through Wilson's greying but still thick hair._

_._

_He was sitting alone at a table in a cafe. His leg didn't hurt and he didn't have his cane. He was looking at a menu. The bell attached to the cafe door dinged, and when House glanced over he saw Wilson entering. He looked older than House knew him, but not as old as he'd looked in the bed. Late fifties maybe?_

_Wilson smiled, brushed some snow off his coat, and sat down at the table across from House._

"_Thanks for agreeing to meet me."_

_House shrugged. "What have I got to lose, right?" He frowned. "You're not taking my other leg, are you?"_

_Wilson chuckled. "As long as you don't have another infarction I don't think we need to worry about that."_

"_No promises."_

_Wilson's smile faltered a little, and he sobered. "Greg, I don't know if you've heard, but Amber and I divorced."_

_House stared at him. "What? Why? She's perfect for you—she's just like me."_

_That made Wilson smile again. "But she's _not_ you," he pointed out, looking at House warmly. Then he sighed. "We've been fighting a lot," he admitted. "She...seems to think I'm using her as a substitute for you instead of loving her as her own person."_

"_Is she right?" House asked carefully, taking a sip of his coffee._

"_That's the thing, Greg," Wilson sighed, looking at him. "I...honestly don't know. I love her, I know I love her, but I also know I'll always love you." He shrugged. "And...I think I'll always love you more."_

_House didn't answer right away. He stared into his coffee cup. "You...told me to move on," he whispered._

"_I know I did," Wilson admitted. "And I'm glad I did because I still think if I hadn't left we'd both still be miserable. And...when I saw you in the restaurant with Cuddy all those years ago I was genuinely happy for you. But now...that was a long time ago, Greg. You and Cuddy broke up, Amber and I broke up...I'll understand completely if you say no but I...Greg, I want to give us another try," he finished, looking House in the eye._

"_James..." House said eventually, "...you were the one who left, not me."_

"_I know," Wilson said. "And if you can't forgive me for that, like I said, I understand."_

_House shook his head. "It's not that. I...I didn't stop."_

_Wilson looked confused for a moment. "Didn't stop what, Greg?"_

_House wasn't looking at him. He was staring into his coffee cup and he shrugged at it. "You know...being in love with you."_

_._

_House poured the last Vicodin into his hand and swallowed it. He would need to page one of his underlings for another prescription. He missed the good old days when he'd stocked up a pretty much endless supply, but that was a very long time ago. And he knew it was for his own good—if he'd had a lot of extra after Cuddy had left him he would have gone back to taking way too much and that would not have had a positive outcome._

_He was in the process of extracting himself from his chair when he stopped and stared at the figure standing in front of the glass doors of his office._

_Wilson pushed the door open slightly. "Hey," he said. "Is it all right if I come in?"_

_House shrugged and sat back down and Wilson entered, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. For a moment he didn't speak, so House decided so start things off._

"_What do you want, Wilson?"_

_Wilson looked up at him. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately," he admitted. "I've missed you. Not just...you know...the relationship part, but the friendship part as well."_

"_Wilson, you..." House shook his head. "You come back after twenty years and now you say you want us to be friends? Isn't that part supposed to come after the breakup?"_

"_Well you wouldn't have believed me back then," Wilson pointed out. "Listen, I moved back to Princeton awhile back and have been looking for jobs in the area and PPTH has an opening in the oncology department. But I didn't want to apply for the job until I spoke to you first."_

"_What do I care whether you work here or not?" House asked moodily. "It's your life. Do whatever you want. I don't care."_

"_You don't think that'd be a little awkward?" Wilson asked, raising his eyebrows. "Running into your ex at work after twenty years?"_

"_Most of the staff here hate me anyway," House pointed out. "You'd fit right in."_

"_House, I don't hate you," Wilson said, rolling his eyes._

"_But you don't love me, either."_

"_I care about you," Wilson said. He sighed. "I know it was my fault the relationship fell apart."_

"_Yeah, you thi–"_

"–_And not just because I cheated," Wilson said, looking at him. "The reason I cheated was because I was never really in love with you in the first place."_

"_Oh," House said with mock-realisation. "Well thanks for that, I feel better now."_

"_House, all I meant was..." Wilson struggled to explain. He sighed. "I always married the same girl. Insecure, in a bad place, needy. I marry her, help her to her feet, and thrive on the fact that she's completely dependent on me. But after awhile that changes. She becomes...more independent and I get bored." Wilson looked up at House, who was watching him carefully. "It wasn't you I fell in love with, House," he explained. "It was the fact that you needed me. Before the infarction that wasn't the case, but I loved you as a friend. Now, if you let me..." he shrugged. "...I can still love you as a friend. And maybe...one day...I can actually fall in love with you for the man you are."_

_House was quiet for a long moment, not looking at Wilson. "You know," he said eventually, "even if we try being just friends it doesn't mean it will work out."_

"_I know," Wilson said. "I understand. But if you're willing to give it a shot then I am."_

_Without looking at him, House nodded. "Talk to Cuddy. If you...get the job, then I'll let you buy me lunch once you start working here."_

_Wilson gave him a genuine smile. House had forgotten how stunning his smile was and couldn't help giving a weak smile in return._

_._

_House stared at the headstone. He touched the W of 'Wilson' with the pad of his thumb._

"_Dad?"_

_House turned to see a blonde seventeen-year-old girl holding out a white rose to him. He took it. "Thanks, Rachel," he muttered. He turned away from her and placed the rose delicately on top of the headstone. The air was still; the wind shouldn't blow it away, at least not yet. He stared at the grave marker for a long moment before finally turning around._

_Cuddy was waiting for him, her hands on Rachel's shoulder's. When House approached her she let go of her daughter and put her arms around him instead. He hugged back. "Are you ready to go?" she whispered once they pulled away._

_House nodded. Then he turned back for a last look._

_._

_House stared at his apartment door. He knew that knock. He hadn't heard it in years but he knew it. He used his cane to push himself off the couch and opened the door._

_He stared at Wilson._

"_Hey," Wilson said softly._

"_Hey," House muttered back, still staring._

"_Can...I come in?" he asked when House didn't move aside or otherwise invite him._

_House nodded and stepped back, allowing Wilson to enter._

_Wilson chuckled. "Everything...looks pretty much the same."_

"_Yeah," House said. "Well, I figured Cuddy and I weren't gonna last, on account of me still being in love with you no matter what you wanted to believe. So I figured it was pointless to cancel my lease or put anything into storage. It was all here waiting for me when I got back."_

_The younger man turned to him. "How long _did_ you and Cuddy last?"_

_House shrugged. "We almost made it to the year-and-a-half mark, but she decided she just couldn't take it anymore. But hey, at least we made it longer than you and I did."_

"_House, I'm sorry," Wilson said, looking at the ground. "I don't know why I overreacted. I knew it was just a kiss."_

_House shrugged again. "If it had been you I'd have overreacted too."_

"_That's different," Wilson pointed out. "I have a history of cheating; you don't."_

"_So is that why you're here?" House asked. "To apologise?"_

_Wilson nodded. "Partly."_

_When he didn't say anything else, House looked at him. "You gonna fill me in on the other part?"_

"_Yeah..." Wilson said. "House, I miss you. We were friends for almost twenty years and I just threw that all away. I...I want it back. I want _you_ back."_

_House smiled slightly. "I was wrong," he said quietly, more to himself than to Wilson._

_Wilson looked confused. "About what?"_

_The other man looked at him. "After you left I told Cuddy you weren't coming back this time. It took you longer than I thought but you did. You came back."_

"_Yeah," Wilson muttered. "I did. So...will you take me back?"_

"_I'll have to think about it," House admitted. He was silent for about half a second, then he looked at Wilson again, taking a step closer to him. "I thought about it."_

_Wilson smirked. "And?"_

"_You..." House muttered. "You tell anyone I said this and I'll kill you in your sleep and make it look like an accident..." he caught Wilson's eye and gave him the tiniest of smiles. "...but I missed you too."_

"House!" Someone was calling his name.

He opened his eyes.

He was in the MRI room. Chase was staring at him, and he looked relieved.

"What?"

"You weren't answering me," Chase explained, handing House his cane so he could get up.

"Just dozed off," House said with a shrug. "MRIs are boring."

"Yeah, well the results are boring too," Chase said, leading him into the other room to show him the monitors. "Aside from the obvious, your leg's fine. That should be a relief, right?"

"You'd think so," House said, looking at the monitors for himself. "And here I was hoping for another dangerous and painful surgery." He smirked when his employee rolled his eyes.

Chase left and House went to go change back into his clothes and think on what he'd seen. Had that been real, or was it just a dream?

Well, for all he knew the whole thing could have been a dream...except for the fact that it was a week later than when it had started.

But what he'd seen this time was different. It was a glimpse into the future. Futures that...except for the one in which Wilson died...all ended with the two of them together.

House smiled to himself. So Cuddy _was_ wrong about she and House being destined to be together. Well, even more wrong than she had been simply because there was no such thing as destiny.

But were those alternate universes still out there somewhere? Were there other Houses and Wilsons that would get back together one day?

Would he and his Wilson get together one day?

House shook his head—he couldn't know.

And he didn't want to know. Whatever would happen would happen, not because of fate or destiny but because of the decisions people made, and at least he knew he could be worse off. He couldn't have regrets because he didn't know that doing things differently would result in a better life than the one he had now.

And there was nothing wrong with the life he had now. Maybe he and Cuddy would break up in the next year or maybe she'd be the one he'd grow old with. Maybe Wilson would want to get married to Sam again, but get drunk at his bachelor party and confess love for House and the two of them would run off to Vegas and elope. Maybe one day they would be together.

Even if they wouldn't, at least House still had Wilson as a friend, and Cuddy as a lover at least for now. He had his leg, and yes, he had pain, but he also had the people he loved. His life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't terrible either. And it was _his _life.

...

House got off the elevator and headed for his office. He could see Wilson approaching from the other direction, either heading for the elevators or his own office, and the oncologist, as was his default, smiled at House as they passed. House opened the door to his office and glanced back, for a second, as his friend retreated.

"Hey, Wilson," he called suddenly, and the younger man turned around to give the older a questioning glance. House gave the tiniest of smiles as Wilson studied him. "C'mere a sec."


End file.
